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MAIL MATTER** 
1890 . 








» 



THE KILBURNS 


BY SPECIAL. AKRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHORS. 


Lovell’s International Series of Modern Novels. 


No. 

1. Miss Eton of Eyon court. By 

Katharine S. Macquoid. 

2. Hartas Marturin. By H. F. 

Lester. .... 

3. Tales of To-Day. By Geo. 

R. Sims. 

4. English Life Seen through Yan- 

kee Eyes. By T. C. Crawford. 

5. Penny Lancaster, Farmer. By 

Mrs. Bellamy. . 

6. Under False Pretences. By 

Adeline Sergeant. 

7. In Exchange for a Soul. By 

Mary Linskill. 

8. Guilderoy. By Ouida. 

9. St. Cuth bert’s Tower. By 

Florence Warden. 

10. Elizabeth Morley. By Katharine 

S. Macquoid. . 

11. Divorce ; or Faithful and 

Unfaithful. By Miss Lee. 

12. Long Odds. By Hawley Smart. 

13. On Circumstantial Evidence. 

By Florence Marryat. 

14. Miss Kate ; or Confessions of * 

a Caretaker. By Rita. 

15. A Vagabond Lover. By Rita. 

16. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. 




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The Wing of Azrael. By Mona 
Caird. . . . .30 

The Fog Princes. By F. Warden. .30 
John Herring. By S. Baring 

Gould. . . .50 

The Fatal Phryne. Bv F. C. 

Phillips and C. J. Wills. . .30 

Harvest. By John Strange 

Winter. . . - -■-'7' 30 

Mehalah. By S. Baring Gould. .50 

A Troublesome Girl. The 

Duchess. . . . .30 

Derrick Vaughan, Novelist. 

By Edna Lyall. . . .30 

Sophy Carmine. By John Strange 
Winter. , . . .30 

The Luck of the House. By 

Adeline Sergeant. . . .30 

The Pennycomequicks. By S. • 
Baring Gould. . . .50 

Jezebel’s Friends. By Dora 

Russell. . . . .30 

Comedy of a Country House. 

By Julian Sturgis. . . .80 

The Piccadilly Puzzle. By 

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That Other Woman. By Annie 
Thomas. . . . .30 


ISSUERS. 

By G. A. Henty. 
By Tasma. 


By Rosa Nouchette Carey 

No RECENT 

32. The Curse of C arne’s Hold. 

,33. Uncle Piper of Piper's Hill. 

84. A Life Sentence. By Adeline Sergeant. 

35. Kit Wyndham. By Frank Barrett. 

36. The Tree of Knowledge. By G. M. Robins. 

37. Roland Oliver. By Justin McCarthy. 

38. Sheba. By Rita. 

39. Sylvia Arden. By Oswald Crawfurd. 

40. Young Mr. Ainslie's Courtship. By F. C. Phillips. 

41. The Haute Noblesse. By Geo. Manville Fenn. 

42. Mount Eden. By Florence Marryat. 

43. Buttons. By John Strange Winter. 

44. Nurse Revel’s Mistake. By Florence Warden. 

45. Arminell. By S. Baring Gould. . ... 

46. The Lament of Dives. By Walter Besant. 

47. Mrs. Bob. By John Strange Winter. 

48. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed. By Chas. Gibbon. .30 

49. The Mynns Mystery. By Geo. Manville Fenn. . . .30 

Other books by well-known authors are in course of preparation, and will be 
published at regular intervals. 

FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, 

142 & 144 WORTH STREET, NEW YORK. 


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THE KILBURNS 


A NOVEL 


BY 


ANNIE THOMAS *>• - 

Author of “That Other Woman,” Called to Account,” 
Etc., Etc. 




FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY 

142 & 144 Worth Street 


Copyright, 1889, 
By John W. Lovfxi 


THE KILBURNS, 


CHAPTER I. 

AT MAUNDERS’S. 

The Cad is well-known to a large majority as a de- 
lightfully picturesque little river, which yields a fair 
supply of fine-flavored trout to the adroit angler. But 
comparatively few people know Caddleton. It is in 
Caddleton this story opens. Therefore a brief descrip- 
tion of it and its worthy merits may be acceptable. 

It straggles up a hill fi;om the river in a westerly di- 
rection, so that those who promenade its long wide 
street have the full benefit of the bitter east winds which 
come rushing off the moor with unimpaired vigor, year 
after year, for at least nine months out of the twelve. 
Two fine old churches adorn it at either extremity ; and 
several handsome old red brick and gray stone mansions 
stand round about it in their own high-walled-in 
grounds. Its one drapers shop is a miracle of elas- 
ticity, for it appears to hold nearly everything that the 
feminine mind of Caddleton desires. And be it under- 
stood that the feminine mind of Caddleton has enlight- 
ened and broad views of the becoming. 

It has the usual number of shops wherein the other 
necessaries of life may be obtained. It has a capital 
hotel, “The Feathers/’ where carriages of many kinds 
can be hired. And it has Maunders' s , 


6 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


l( Maunders’s ” is a pleasing feature in Caddleton life. 
At Maunders's, last year s works of fiction, travel, and 
biography can be obtained at a reasonable rate of sub- 
scription, and through Maunders's nearly all the mag- 
azines circulate through Caddleton and its environs. 
All sorts of useful and useless articles, that are more or 
less fascinating in appearance, repose upon the well* 
arranged counter and tables. Comfortable chairs, and 
a couple of spring-seated, softly-cushioned sofas placed 
on either side of a bright wood fire in winter, and near 
to the wide sunny window in summer, make Maun- 
ders’s a favorite rendezvous with both young and old. 
But the chief attraction to Maunders’s, was Mrs. Maun- 
ders herself. 

Twenty-five years ago, when she had made her first 
appearance on the Caddleton boards, general opinion 
had pronounced her to be the bonniest bride who had 
come into the neighborhood since Lady Rollamore’s 
day. And even now, though she wore the plainest 
black still in memory of her long-departed husband, 
Mrs. Maunders was a wonderfully attractive-looking 
woman of forty-five. Some people had thought she 
acted unwisely in setting up in business when Doctor 
Maunders died ; but she knew her own business best, 
and preferred the loss of an imaginary social status to 
being, with her daughters, dependent crn the charity of 
her family, who were more given to grieving over the 
improvidence of their poor relations than to ungrudg- 
ingly giving to them. 

At the present time her social status was as good as 
ever. The friends who had welcomed her warmly as 
the popular, clever doctors wife, welcomed her warmly 
still. Their children were the friends of her children. 
She had never touched anything beyond the fringe of 
the county society, so, when the fringe slipped from 


AT M A C/NDERS’S. 


7 


her willing fingers, she made no effort to clutch at and 
retain it. The shop brought her in a good income, 
enabled her to educate her daughters well, and to give 
them all the comforts and pleasures they would have 
had if the doctor had lived. So she looked with pride 
at the name of “ Maunders ” in big letters over her shop 
door, regarding it as the symbol of her independence. 

She was standing arranging some recently unpacked 
books, dipping into the contents of several, and prom- 
ising herself many a winter evening's enjoyment by 
their means, when the first note of discord in the har- 
mony of her life was struck by an unconscious hand. 

A little pony trap rattled up to the door, and a comfort- 
ably-dressed, pleasant-faced woman got out of it, and 
hurriedly entered the shop. She was the housekeeper 
at Parkventon, Lord Rollamore’s neighboring family 
seat. 

“ Can you put your hand on a couple of good ser- 
vants at once for me, Mrs. Maunders ? ” she began 
hurriedly. 

Then she sat down, and drew a long breath of sup- 
pressed excitement and burning anxiety to startle her 
hearer with the news she was about to communicate. 

“ For Parkventon ? you are wanting them for your- 
self, Mrs. Jennings ?” 

“ For Parkventon. But merely as temporaries till 
the establishment can be properly arranged. Things * 
have gone down at Parkventon, as you know, Mrs. 
Maunders ; but we may confidently look forward to a 
better state of things now (this last sentence was an 
unacknowledged literal translation from the letter of 
the man of business, which she had just received), for 
my lord and my lady, and the family, are coming home 
to-night ! ” 

“ And so you want a cook and housemaid imme- 


8 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


diately ? ” Mrs. Maunders said, thoughtfully. She was 
not nearly so much impressed by the intelligence as 
Mrs. Jennings had intended her to be. Yet, for all that, 
her heart had given a little jump as the housekeeper 
mentioned the fact of the Rollamores’ return. 

“ Immediately — within this very hour, if you can 
manage it, Mrs. Maunders. It’s a heavy responsibility 
to throw upon me to have the whole house ready to 
receive the family at a day’s notice. But I’m equal to 
meeting it. For five-and-twenty years, there hasn’t a 
day passed that I haven’t entered every room at Park- 
venton and seen it aired. I’ve always kept a couple of 
good girls going at work under me, as you know, and 
the girls Fve got now will do very well for the rough 
work, but I must have a good cook and housemaid.” 

“ They’ll bring servants with them, won’t they? but 
here ! I’ve got my finger on the names of two who 
may do ; close at hand, too. They’ve been living with 
old Mrs. Cooper, but she thinks they’re not kind to her 
cats, because they don’t like getting up three times in 
the night to feed the Angora kittens.” 

Then, with a steady hand, she wrote the addresses ot 
the two servants, though there were tears in her eyes as 
she bent over the paper to do so. 

“ And how are the young ladies?” Mrs. Jennings 
asked. 

“ Well, and busy as usual.” 

“ Miss Florence is growing very handsome, much 
what I remember you twenty years ago, Mrs. Maun- 
ders.” 

“ Many people think her like me, but she’s a greatly 
improved edition of her mother,” that mother replied, 
smiling thoughtfully. Then, to her relief, Mrs. Jen- 
nings, after one or two more references to the over- 


AT MA UNDERS’S. 


9 

whelming responsibilities that were heaped upon her, 
withdrew in search of the necessary domestics. 

Then Mrs. Maunders sat down and rested her fore- 
head in her hands for a few minutes, and thought of 
many things ; but chiefly of a man who had been Gil 
bert Kilburn when she knew him, and who was now 
Lord Rollamore. 

“ He’ll never recognize me ; the sylph is completely 
enveloped and obscured in the matron, and there’s 
no one to tell him that, what he left to perish, Doctor 
Maunders found and picked up and cherished. But 
Florence ! how will Florence strike him if he ever 
chances to see her ? ” 

As she would not answer this question, and cus- 
tomers began to drop in, all of them brimming over 
with items of intelligence respecting the sudden and 
unexpected return of the Rollamores to Parkventon, she 
dismissed the subject from her mind. Concentrating 
herself on .the business of the hour, as had always been 
her wont, and was her secret of success, Mrs. Maun- 
ders went on for the remainder of that day, acting in 
the living present, and forgetting the past in which 
Gilbert Kilburn had figured. 

But when the daylight died out, as ft does about six 
o’clock in October, and she went into the warm, pleas- 
ant parlor behind the shop, and sat down to tea with 
her daughters, the doctor’s widow looked more care- 
worn than her children had ever seen her look before. 
So they tried to cheer her by relating all the little bits of 
gossip they had heard, while out in pursuit of their re- 
spective callings during the day, about Lord Rollamore’s 
return, and the Kilburns generally. 

'‘Did you ever see Lord Rollamore, mamma?” 
Florence asked. 

Mrs. Maunders hesitated an instant before she com- 


IO 


THE KI LB URNS. 


mitted herself to the utterance of the first falsehood 
she had ever implied to her children. Then she an- 
swered : — 

“No, dear, I never saw Lord Rollamore (he was only ' 
the Honorable Gilbert Kilburn when I knew him/’) she 
said to herself extenuatingly, and Florence went on 
hastily, without noticing her mother’s confusion. 

“Stupid I am, to be sure. Of course papa and you 
weren’t married when Lord Rollamore went away. 
It’s twenty-seven years since any of the Kilburns have 
been at Parkventon. Doctor Sheffield was telling me 
just now. He must be quite old now ! ” 

“Not old ; only about fifty-two/’ Mrs. Maunders in- 
terrupted, reddening slightly. Then she flushed up 
almost painfully as she saw both her daughters look at 
her with astonishment. 

“Why, you spoke as if you knew all about him, 
mamma, and you’ve never even seen him,” Kathleen 
laughed, and her younger sister added : — 

“And you’re looking almost as excited as Miss 
Cophlete did when I told her the Kilburns were com- 
ing back. She almost tumbled off the footpath in her 
excitement, and told me that ‘her father had married 
Lord Rollamore’s father and mother, and christened 
himself and all his brothers and sisters, and that she 
quite felt that she should meet him as an old friend/ 
Absurd, wasn’t it ? As if a man could remember any 
one he hadn’t seen for twenty-seven years. ” 

“It’s even more absurd our wasting so much time in 
talking about people we never have known, and never 
shall know.” 

Mrs. Maunders spoke quietly, but the girls recognized 
in their mother’s tone and manner a determination “to 
have done with the subject of the Kilburns for that 
night at least,” which they did not care to combat 


AT MAUNDERS' S. 


1 1 

Accordingly, Kathleen started a fresh topic by ask- 
ing : — 

4 ‘ Where did you see Doctor Sheffield, Flo? What a 
number of patients he must have in Wreymouth ; you’re 
constantly meeting him on that road.” 

The girl spoke with a faint touch of chagrin in her 
voice that did not escape the quick susceptible ears of 
her mother and sister. The latter only replied uncon- 
cernedly : — 

“ He’s the parish doctor, and the Wreymouth people 
are always more or less feverish, you know. Mamma, 
my children have been more obnoxious than usual to- 
day. I told Mrs. Hunter that if she couldn’t insist upon 
their being more obedient, that I should be obliged to 
give up attempting to teach them any longer. She 
knows I have the offer from that school at Exeter, so 
she understood that I meant what I said.” 

“ Would you be willing to go to the Exeter school?” 
Mrs. Maunders had vehemently opposed the idea of 
Florences accepting the offer when it was made, but 
intuitively now Florence felt that her mother wished her 
to accept it. 

“I would go ‘ willingly,’ but, of course, not gladly. 
It would be a pinch to leave you both.” 

She sprang to her feet as she spoke, and went over to 
a side-table, where the shaded lamps and open work- 
baskets and books were suggestively awaiting them. 
She could recall hundreds _of evenings passed in this 
way alone with her mother and sister with never the 
suspicion of a shadow of constraint or misunderstand- 
ing between them. Now, suddenly, not only the 
shadow but the substance of such misunderstanding 
had sprung into being. Kathleen had seemed vexed at 
her having met and quoted Doctor Sheffield. And her 
mother, who had hitherto always clung with the ten- 


12 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


acity of all-absorbing affection to the companionship of 
both her children, now seemed to think it desirable that 
she, Florence, the pet and darling, should leave her 
home and go alone into the world ! What did it mean ? 

It was a relief to all three of them when, after about 
an hour spent in vainly endeavoring to chat easily and 
freely as they worked, a ring at the private door an- 
nounced a visitor. The feeling of relief was of brief 
duration, though, for in a few minutes Doctor Sheffield 
came in, and Florence felt inclined to take her candle 
and go off to bed, as she realized that his first glance 
was given to hersell, and that Kathleen saw that it was 
so, and was disturbed by it. 

‘ 'Forgive a lonely bachelor for finding his arid sitting- 
room unendurable the moment he pictured this cosy 
interior, Mrs. Maunders.’' 

The words were inoffensive enough in themselves, 
but the manner of the man in speaking them grated 
harshly on the ears of two of his hearers. And they 
happened to be the two whom he desired to impress 
favorably. Kathleen felt soothed by them ! 

"You know we are always glad to see any friends 
who are kind enough to drop in of an evening.” 

His hostess smiled and moved her chair away from 
the side table nearer to the fire, so as to include him in 
the circle. The two girls continued steadily working, 
though the heart of the one was palpitating with half- 
hopeful, half-fearful excitement, and the heart of the 
other was heavy with an undefinable dull dread of 
coming unhappiness. Doctor Sheffield stared at them 
both steadily and perceptively as he talked on slowly 
and gravely to their mother ; and, as he looked and 
talked, he strengthened himself in a resolution to which 
he had been deliberately coming for a long time. 

Descriptions of personal appearance are always more 


AT MAUNDERS' S. 


13 


or less vain, vague, futile, and unsatisfactory. Still, it 
is necessary to put forward some sort of presentment of 
these three young people, who will figure largely on 
the canvas on which the story of the Kilburn family is 
painted. 

Kathleen’s cannot be portrayed in black-and-white. 
She had fair, transparent skin, through which the blue 
veins and the pure red blood showed clearly. She had 
very bright, very blue eyes, and very bright fair hair, 
so bright and fair indeed that it almost justified people 
in calling it golden hair. She had white, small, regu- 
lar teeth, and prettily-curved rosy lips, and a neat, 
graceful little figure. But the prettiest thing about her, 
and her greatest charm, was the interrogatory frown 
that was so quick to gather her brows together when- 
ever the girl felt anxious or curious, perplexed or an- 
noyed. 

And this frown was on her brows as she matched 
her colors and painted in with her needle a convention- 
alized group of lilies and marguerites on a panel for 
the boudoir door of the lady to whom she was giving 
music lessons. But it was not the subtle shades of 
silk, nor the intricate stitches in her design, that were 
perplexing Kathleen this night. 

The other girl had different coloring, and a finer phy- 
sique. Her hair was not bright, it was thick and rich- 
looking, black in some lights, and golden chestnut in 
others. Her skin was as transparent as Kathleen’s, but 
it was dark, and as the color only came into her face 
when she was animated, or a little moved by some pass- 
ing emotion, many people called her sallow. She had 
very soft hazel eyes, and a dear, delicately-outlined 
little nose, that escaped being aquiline by being inquir- 
ing. And she had a very beautiful mouth, and like of 
chin and throat ; a mobile, sensitive, delicately-curved 


H 


THE NILE UR NS. 


mouth, that one felt instinctively could never utter a 
mean or false word. Her figure was rather above the 
average height ; she looked tall by the side of Kathleen, 
but was not tall in reality, and was as yet only slim 
and graceful, as it is common for the figures of girls of 
twenty to be. But her shoulders were quite innocent 
of any inclination to the once much-esteemed feeble 
slant downwards, and her head was perfectly set on 
her round throat. You could have drawn a straight 
line from the back of her head to the back of her heel 
she was so erect. She had a voice that interested every 
one to whom she spoke, and a smile that seemed to be 
“ meant especially ” for every one. And she had a de- 
lightfully keen sense of the becoming, and so always 
wore what suited her exactly in color and shape. For 
the rest, she must speak for herself in these pages. 

The man who sat calmly and critically surveying 
these two girls had an exterior which lends itself easily 
to a written description. Tall and strongly, rather 
stoutly built, fair, pale, straight-featured, perfectly com- 
posed. His steady, well-opened gray eyes had a habit 
of fixing themselves upon you, and gazing unwinkingly 
at you for some minutes in a way that impressed some 
people greatly with a sense of the intensity of his pro- 
fessional insight, acumen, and caution. Others were 
irritated by it, and among these latter was Florence 
Maunders. 

He had been in Caddleton about ten years, having 
taken Doctor Maunders's practice when that gentleman 
died, and, during all these years, he — Sheffield — had 
been on friendly terms with the widow and daughters 
of his predecessor. He was about thirty-four now, a 
grave, quiet, handsome man, with a spotless reputation, 
both socially and professionally ; a gentlemanly man, 
too, one to whom any mother in Mrs. Maunders s po- 


AT MAUNDERS' S. 


15 


sition might well have been glad to give her daughter. 

Nevertheless, Mrs. Maunders’s heart gave a startled 
throb when, after about half-an-hour’s conversation on 
various local topics, he turned his glance away from 
the girls at last, and asked her slowly if he might have 
ten minutes’ conversation with her alone ? 

“ Certainly, come up to the drawing-room,” she said, 
and was going to take up the small lamp, but he was 
before hand with her, and when they reached the draw- 
ing-room, he put the lamp just where the light fell full 
on her face ; and, after a moment’s vexed hesitation, 
she resolved to sit still and bear it. 

“ Nothing very serious, I trust? Anyone worse in 
my district? ” 

She tried to speak easily, but her nerves, which had 
been shaken in the morning were playing her false now, 
and she felt her lips quiver. 

“ Something important to me, not a new thing, as 
you will have surmised, but one that must be brought 
to a climax soon. May I^sk for your good wishes and 
influence with your daughter when I ask her — as I 
shall presently — to be my wife ?” 

“ Assuredly. You shall have both,” she began 

warmly. Kath — ” 

“ Kathleen will be on my side too, she has always 
been on my side,” he interrupted, and Mrs. Maunders 
grasped, as he spoke, that the daughter he had won her 
consent to woo, was the one she did not wish him to 
wed, for Kathleen’s liking for him was an open secret 
to her mother. It was wofully painful and embarrass- 
ing now for that mother to find that it was Florence 
he wanted, not Kathleen ! — yet she dared not betray 
Kathleen’s secret. She could only pray fervently that 
Florence would refuse him. 

“You must understand that I will not attempt to bias 


i6 


THE KI LB URNS. 


my daughter — her own heart must teach her what an- 
swer to make,” she faltered out, while his eyes searched 
her face unwaveringly. 

“A minute ago you promised me to use your in- 
fluence in my favor. I must ask you to keep your 
promise. You are not a feeble woman, Mrs. Maunders, 

I am sure of that ; you have liked me as a friend? Tell 
Florence that you will like to have me for a son-in-law ! ” 

There was a pause; her heart ached so for Kathleen’s 
disappointment — a girl can surely know no more bitter 
one than this of being superseded by a sister whom she 
loves ! — that she could not speak. Presently he broke 
the silence. 

“ You have heard this news of the Rollamores’ coming 
back to-night ? ” 

“Mrs. Jennings told me this morning.” 

“He will have changed very much since you saw 
him last ? ” 

She lifted her head ; the angry blood rushed in a hot 
wave to her face. # 

“You forget that Lord Rollamore had left the place 
before Doctor Maunders and I married — before I came 
here.” 

“Ah ! yes. To be sure, you never saw him here,” 
Dr. Sheffield said, quietly. Then he took up the lamp, 
and with the words, “You will use your influence with 
Florence on my behalf, I’m sure,” he followed her 
downstairs, where they found Kathleen alone. Flor- 
ence, to her mothers intense relief, had gone to bed ! 

Mrs. Maunders went to her bed that night with the 
feeling of a reprieved criminal. For a time the re- 
actionary sensation of relief was paramount. At least 
until the next day, she would not be called upon to 
witness the sight of the daggerof disappointment being 
dag into Kathleen’s heart. But soon this soothing 


THE FA MIL Y AT PARKVENTON. i 7 

reflection was banished by the recollection of Doctor 
Sheffield s words and manner when he had referred to 
her “ never having seen Lord Rollamore here. ” What 
did he mean ? How much did he know ? And how 
had he obtained his knowledge? And how would he 
use it should she ever run counter to his wishes ? These 
questions ran in her mind all night, repeating them- 
selves over and over again in a thousand ways as 
words do in a fever dream, until the gray dawn broke, 
and forced little streaks of light through the blinds and 
curtains. Then she slept uneasily for an hour, and was 
later down to attend to the dressing of her shop than 
she had been since the day she opened it 

(“How I hate my past,” she whispered to herself, 
“and how I dread Doctor Sheffield.”) 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FAMILY AT PARKVENTON. 

“What shall I say to Mrs. Hunter? Shall I tell her 
that you wish — I mean, shall I tell her that I shall go 
to that Exeter school ? ” 

Florence spoke with her head averted, as she stood 
ready dressed for her walk to Wreymouth Lodge the 
morning after Doctor Sheffield’s visit. The girl had 
come half into the shop from the back-parlor ; Kathleen 
was still seated at the breakfast-table, idly, sweetly 
dreaming that Doctor Sheffield’s private words to her 
mother had borne reference to herself. 

“I must speak to you, dear, before you go out.” 
Mrs. Maunders’s voice shook, and her hand, as she laid 
it on Florence’s, was feverish and trembling. “ I must 
speak to you,” she repeated, and she drew Florence 

z 


i8 


THE KI LB URNS. 


into the shop, shutting the parlor door, as she did so, in 
a way that seemed to Kathleen to vaguely menace those 
sweet dreams of hers. 

" Doctor Sheffield spoke to rne last night of his hopes 
of winning your love — of marrying you, my child,” she 
blurted out, nervously. “I told him I could say nothing 
— promise nothing — ” 

4 'Neither can I say or promise anything, mother — 
excepting this, that nothing would ever induce me to 
marry him myself, though I won’t object to him as a 
brother-in-law. ’’ 

" But it’s you he wants, not Kathleen.” 

"He will never have me, but he's thinking that he 
wants me settles the question of my going to Exeter. 
I'd go at once if I could ; as it is, I must wait till after 
the Christmas holidays. Meanwhile, don't tell Kath- 
leen, and she'll get him, and be happy, I hope, in 
time.” 

All this Florence murmured in such low rapid tones, 
that not a word reached Kathleen's ears, though it must 
be admitted that those pretty ears were anxiously on the 
stretch. 

" I will write to Doctor Sheffield from Wreymouth 
to-day,” Florence went on, kissing her mother as she 
spoke. "You shall not be troubled about it, darling 
mother.” Then she added aloud, as she opened the 
intervening door, — 

"I am going to be a sensible girl, Kathleen, and take 
this situation at Exeter after all. ” 

Then she went off to her daily duties, holding her 
head up a shade higher than usual, and looking bright, 
strong, and heart-free, as she was. 

"What made Flo’ come to that conclusion so sud- 
denly, mother ? ” the elder sister asked, a little suspi- 
ciously, when the younger one was gone. 


THE TAMIL V AT PAR VENTON. 


*9 

“ Her own good sense ! the salary offered is double 
what she receives from Mrs. Hunter/' 

“We shall miss her dreadfully/' Kathleen said, cheer- 
fully. At the bottom of her heart there was an unacknowl- 
edged sense of relief ! When Florence went to Exeter, 
Doctor Sheffield would no 'longer meet her daily on the 
Wrey mouth road. Then shb went up to the drawing- 
room to practice the pieces she was to teach her pupils 
in the afternoon, and, for a short time, Mrs. Maunders 
dropped the mask of peaceful, pleasant interest in the 
present, and suffered her disturbed thoughts of the past, 
and Doctor Sheffield's possible knowledge of it, to cloud 
her good motherly face. 

( “ If girls only knew how their girlish thoughtless- 
ness will recoil upon the heads of the women they will 
become, how much wiser they would be," she said 
regretfully to herself, and then her brow and heart 
lightened a little, as she thought of how wisely and 
decisively Florence was going to act. 

“ If she had been weak and evasive, and had thrown 
the burden of answering Doctor Sheffield upon me, 
everything would have been very unpleasant. And if 
she had refused to go to Exeter, the chances are that, 
sooner or later, Lord Rollamore would have §een her 
and made inquiries.") 

This was the course Mrs. Maunders's train of thought 
took as she busied herself about the shop, and seemed 
to her customers to have no ideas beyond them and 
the wares they needed. 

There was no sentiment about Florence Maunders 
yet ! There very rarely is any sentiment about a girl 
who is in good health, has plenty of occupation, and 
whose heart and fancy are both untouched. Accord- 
ingly she did not hesitate for a moment over the com- 
position of her letter to Doctor Sheffield. She had 


20 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


something definite to say, and having no sentiment 
about her, she said it straightforwardly. 

“ Dear Doctor Sheffield. — My mother has told me 
what you said to her last night about me. I am very 
sorry that you should have paid me the great compli- 
ment of making me an offer, for I cannot accept it. It 
would be wrong of me to do so, for I could never feel 
anything more than friendship for you. That I shall 
always feel, and I hope you will always return it. 

Your sincere friend, 

Florence Maunders.” 

This letter she sealed and put into her pocket, in- 
tending to post it in the Wreymouth pillar-box when 
she went out for the mid-day walk with her pupils. 
But it happened that this day Mrs. Hunter wanted to 
talk to someone about all the delights she anticipated 
from the reappearance of the Kilburns upon the social 
boards. Accordingly, the governess and two little girls 
were told off for the honor of accompanying Mrs. 
Hunter in her pre-luncheon drive. 

“You may cut the lessons a little short this morning, 
Miss Maunders, and Hilda and Alice and you shall 
drive with me at half past eleven,” said the autocratic 
lady who paid Florence for her time, and therefore 
felt justified in disposing of it as she pleased. So 
Florence and her pupils got into the carriage, the horses' 
heads were turned towards Parkventon, and Mrs. Hunter 
slipped into the subject that was uppermost in her 
mind. 

“ We shall get a good view of the house from Venton 
Hill ; the leaves are fortunately nearly all fallen ! 
Count how many chimneys are smoking, Miss Maun- 
ders. I know the house so well that I shall be able to 
judge how many rooms are occupied.” 


THE TAMIL Y AT PAR VENTON. 


21 


Mrs. Hunters head was half out of the carriage win- 
dow on the Parkventon side as she spoke. Presently 
she drew it back, crimson and elated. 

“ Drive very slowly,/' she ordered the coachman 
through the little trap window in front. “ Luckily 
we're going up hill, for I see three gentlemen, an 
elderly man and two young ones, strangers, coming 
down. It must be Lord Rollamore and his sons ! I 
wish I had the open carriage, I should have bowed. I 
hope they’ll pass my side." 

As Mrs. Hunter expressed the wish, Florence, to 
conceal a smile, bent forward and looked out of the 
open window on her side. The carriage was going at 
a foot pace, and an elderly gentleman was standing 
still by the side of the road to let it pass. The girl 
saw him look puzzled as her eyes met his. The next 
moment they were past, and Mrs. Hunter was lament- 
ing that she had looked out of the wrong window. 

“ I only saw the young men, and they were looking 
superciliously straight in front of them," she com- 
plained. “ I couldn't bow to them. Their father 
must have been on your side, Miss Maunders. Do 
tell me what Lord Rollamore is like ? ' ' 

“ Plain and podgy. He seemed to think the road 
belonged to him, and looked quite surprised at any one 
driving along it," Florence said carelessly, and Mrs. 
Hunter told her complacently, — 

“ You see he didn't > know it was our carriage. The 
Hunters and Kilburns used to be quite neighborly, but, 
of course, he wouldn't recognize you as belonging to 
us in any way. The young men are strikingly hand- 
some — like their mother, I've heard. I shall call in a 
few days, and then I will tell you all about them. 
Dear, dear ! what life then used to be in the neighbor- 
hood, when the old people were at Parkventon, and 


22 


THE HI LB UR NS. 


this man was the heir. There wasn't a girl for miles 
round who didn't hope to be the Honorable Gilbert's 
choice." 

So she babbled on, and Florence listened indiffer- 
ently, for her mind was more given to the consider- 
ation of how she should post her letter than to the 
Kilburns of either the past or present. 

Meantime Lord Rollamore had said to his sons, — 

“ There was a charming girl in that carriage. She 
must be one of our neighbors, to be driving along this 
back-road. Find out at the lodge." 

“ Probably she hails from Caddleton," Gilbert Kil- 
burn, the eldest son, said languidly. 

He disliked the prospect of wintering at Parkventon, 
but his doing so was made the condition on which his 
father had agreed to pay certain debts, which were be- 
ginning to worry the young man's usually sweet tem- 
per and serene disposition. Accordingly, he resigned 
himself to the exigencies of his case, but could not 
affect an interest in his surroundings. 

At the lodge gate Lord Rollamore was told that the 
carriage he had met was Mrs. Hunter’s, of Wrey mouth 
Lodge, and immediately he ceased to be interested in 
the girl with the face that had attracted him. 

“ I remember hearing my poor mother say that the 
Hunters 4 were people who were here, there and every 
where, but had no place of their own’ on the social lad- 
der," he remarked to his sons. 

Gilbert smiled dismally. 

“ Strikes me that’s the common lot in this region ; 
feel like it already myself," he said in the soft liquid 
tones that misled the many into supposing him to be 
an easily-guided and morally back-boneless young man, 
as compared with his brother Fergus, whose quicker 
manners, keener glance, and more unflagging energy 


THE FAMIL Y AT PARKVENTON. 


23 

seemed to fit him well for the profession he had chosen 
— the navy. 

“ You’ll soon know the ropes down here, and then 
you’ll go with a fair wind, old fellow,” the younger 
brother remarked encouragingly. “ Presently, for my 
own part, I’m very glad to have this gunnery course, 
it will be a grind, -but it will keep me in Plymouth for 
three months.” 

“ Fortunately, you’re not of Gilbert’s opinion, that 
Parkventon cedes its claim to be*the dullest hole upon 
earth to Plymouth,” Lord Rollamore put in testily. 

“You bent the twig of my infant mind in the direc- 
tion of that unflattering opinion of Parkventon yourself, 
sir. ” 

Gilbert laughed gently. 

Lord Rollamore smiled grimly at the recollection, as 
his son reminded him of the aversion he had felt, and 
expressed for their chief family place for many years of 
his life, an aversion, which had its root in a wrong he 
had wrought, and a disappointment he had brought 
upon himself. 

“ I was a fool, and didn’t appreciate the advantages 
and privileges I enjoyed at the old place in the days of 
my youth ; the consequence was I — never mind — my 
son will be wiser, I hope,” he said, laying his hand on 
Gilbert’s arm to help himself up a stiffish incline on the 
turf. They had taken a short cut across the park to the 
house, and now, as they approached it, three ladies 
came down from the terrace to meet them. 

“The girls borrowed the dog-cart from the farm, and 
have been out exploring Rollamore,” Lady Rollamore 
said, and the Honorables Sylvia and Cicely gabbled on 
enthusiastically. 

“And we’ve found out the funniest little town-village, 
papa ! A place called Caddleton, with funny little old- 


24 


THE KI LB URNS. 


world shops, and old-world ladies shopping in them,” 
Sylvia was saying when Cicely cut in, — 

“ And such a very artistic book-selling and art-pot 
establishment, a sweet place, with a sweet woman in 
it. I declare I’ll never regret being out of reach of 
Mudie’s while I can go and get my current literature 
and gossip about it at Maunders’s. Gilbert, it will be 
something for you to do, to drive me there three days a 
week to change books.” 

“You’ll never get 'lazy Gilbert to exert himself to 
search out the literary resources of Caddleton. Will 
she, my son ? ” Lady Rollamore said affectionately. 
She smiled as she spoke, and he responded to her smile. 
For this mother and son understood each other better 
than either was understood by any other being in the 
world. She knew that laziness was not the rock on 
which he was likely to split, and he knew that she 
knew it. 

“Even mamma begins to see how incorrigibly lazy 
you are, you dear old thing. But when I tell you that 
there’s a pretty daughter at Maunders’s, I shall have a 
volunteer escort in you, Fergus, I know.” 

“Yes, I’d go anywhere to see a pretty girl,” the 
sailor frankly acknowledged. “The library part of 
Maunders’s doesn’t appeal to me — ‘ My only books are 
women’s looks,’ etc., etc. Aren’t you rather afaid of 
my making a fool of myself for a pretty face?” 

He looked sharply round the family group as he 
asked the question. Only Gilbert replied to it. 

“You’ll never sacrifice yourself for a pretty face, or 
for anything else,” the elder.brother said listlessly ; and 
both the sisters began clamoring that “ poor dear 
sleepy Gilbert judged other men by himself, and couldn’t 
credit any one with taste, or feeling, or energy enough 
to lift his eyes to look at a pretty face if one was to 
pass close by him.” 


CAUTION AND CHARITY. 


25 

“ That's it! — that’s Gilbert!” Gilbert’s father and 
brother cried ecstatically. 

His mother thought something else — and said noth- 
ing. Twenty-six years had passed since she had found 
it was not judicious to say what she thought before 
her lord, who deemed himself her master. The course 
of training she had undergone in learning this lesson 
had been brief but effectual. While she was still a very 
young wife and mother, her instincts, as the latter, had 
taught her that, while speaking the truth, it was well 
not to speak the whole truth very often to her husband. 
Accordingly, with that loving desire for the preserva- 
tion of peace at home which is implanted in the hearts 
of most women, she learnt to be reserved with frank 
words, and secretive with an open expression. 

Sometimes she reproached herself for the line of 
policy which her peace-loving nature led her to pursue. 
For to her Lord Rollamore seemed exactly what he 
wished to seem to her — namely, a man who had 
always worn his heart upon his sleeve, and whose one 
secret in life had been the secret of his love for her 
before he declared it. She thought him a fine charac- 
ter, in short, and blamed herself for being alive to his 
one fault — a little inequality, to put it mildly, of tem- 
per. 


CHAPTER III. 

CAUTION AND CHARITY. 

The letter was still in Florence’s pocket when she 
left the Hunters’ house to go home that afternoon. It 
seemed as difficult to get rid of the momentous epistle 
as of the remembrance of a crime. She had not cared 
to entrust it to one of the Hunters’ servants, nor to put 


2 6 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


it on the hall-table with the family's correspondence ; 
for in her daily voyages backwards and forwards to the 
luncheon table, she had often seen the envelopes of that 
correspondence undergoing sharp scrutiny from various 
pairs of eyes. To post it now in the Wrey mouth pillar- 
box would be to delay its delivery, and to lengthen her 
own walk considerably. Accordingly she kept it in 
her pocket, resblving to give some known and trust- 
worthy Caddleton boy a penny for taking it to Doctor 
Sheffield's house. To go home with that letter still in 
her pocket would be to break her word of promise both 
to the ear and heart of her mother. Moreover, it would 
give her the feeling of one who had a combustible con- 
cealed on her person, which at any moment might 
explode and set sisterly relations between Kathleen 
and herself in a blaze. 

She was within a quarter of a mile of the west end 
of Caddleton, and had got her mind's eye firmly fixed 
on a likely boy, when she heard the sharp firm trot of 
the Doctor’s cob coming near behind her. In a mo- 
ment or two it was pulled up by her side, and its rider 
was bending down — calm, composed, and scrupulously 
neat as usual — to offer his hand. 

“ I saw you driving towards Parkventon this morning. 
Surely Mrs. Hunter was not going to call?" he began, 
and the strain of pettiness in the expression of his curi- 
osity jarred on the girl. 

“ She-merely took the children and myself for a drive." 
Then she put her hand in her pocket and took hold of 
the letter, but did not draw it out. The position was 
horrible to her. He had dismounted, and was walk- 
ing along by her side, looking at her now and again 
in that obnoxiously calm, unblushing way he had 
and not speaking. Presently they reached the two 
or three detached houses, which stood as the advance- 


CAUTION AND CHARITY. 


27 


guard of the village — in five minutes' more they would 
be at her mothers shop door, and both her mother and 
Kathleen would draw wrong conclusions from their com- 
panionship. With k mental effort she drew the letter 
out, and discharged its contents at him, simultaneously 
with the words — 

‘ ‘ I am so sorry that I’ve had to write it, and you ought 
to have it ever so long ago ; but you’ll be friendly with 
us all the same, I know." 

He took the letter, and with an abrupt “Good-after- 
noon," Florence almost ran home and in at the private 
door. The first person she saw was Kathleen, who 
asked, — 

‘ ‘ What is the matter ? Have you met a tramp ? There 
are a lot of them about, Miss Cophlete says. She has 
been in here talking to mother quite in a panic, poor 
thing ! She w'as driving along that high-hedged lane, 
near Parkventon, this afternoon, when some man sprang 
on to the hedge from the other side, and brandished a 
stick at her. Luckily her old pony always gallops when 
its head is turned homewards, so she turned and gal- 
loped home and came and told mother. She’s going to 
speak to the police." 

“They can’t interfere with a man for brandishing a 
stick, that didn’t interfere with her." 

“How unsympathetic you are, Flo’; it interfered 
with her nerves." 

“Why did she take her nerves into a high-hedged, 
half-private lane ? ’’ 

* ‘ Why, don’t you understand ? She, or rather her fam- 
ily, are very old friends of the Kilburn family. Her 
father was vicar here, you know, when this Lord Rolla- 
more was born. And poor, dear old Miss Cophlete can’t 
forget that her father christened him. It’s very natural." 

Florence laughed. “But it isn’t natural to expect 


28 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


Lord Rollamore to remember it — is it, now? and, Kath- 
leen, come with me to the choral class to-night. Mother 
looks tired. Let her have an evening quite to herself 
— to rest and read. ” 

“To the choral class!” Kathleen half-assented. 
Then, remembering that Doctor Sheffield didn't approve 
of the choral class, because it sometimes engrossed the 
services of his assistant, she added, — 

“ After all, perhaps I had better stay at home. Miss 
Cophlete will be there with her niece, so you’ll have 
some one to speak to ; and if any one should come in 
this evening, one of us should be at home to save mother 
the exertion of entertaining that person.” 

“No one ever chooses the choral class evening to 
call on us, because all our friends know that we 
belong to it,” Florence argued. But Kathleen per- 
sisted in her refusal to go, betraying by that persistent 
refusal that she wholly hoped for, and partly expected, 
the appearance of Doctor Sheffield. 

The Guildhall, in which the choral classes were 
held, was at the further and lower end of the little 
town, on the banks of the river. October was draw- 
ing to a close, the days were rapidly and perceptibly 
shortening and darkening, and some little difficulty was 
beginning to be felt by Forence in getting to the 
classes. She had gone alone through the past sum- 
mer and early autumn. But to go alone now would 
be unpleasant, especially as tramps were reported to 
be about in alarming abundance. Accordingly, as a 
rule, she secured the companionship of Miss Cophlete 
and her niece. This night however, she had resolved 
to rely on that of Kathleen, and now Kathleen re- 
fused to go. The younger sister knew that the elder 
one was waiting and hoping for a joy that was a 
chimera. But to word this knowledge would have 


CAUTION AND CHARITY. 


29 


been to wound one whose heart was made of very 
tender stuff. Of such tender stuff, unfortunately, that 
whether she eventually failed to win or won Doctor 
Sheffield, he would cause that poor heart many an ache. 
So, after one or two more appeals, which Kathleen 
disregarded, Florence resolved to banish timidity, and 
go to her evening’s recreation alone. 

‘'I don’t like your going in this way, Flo,” her 
mother said hesitatingly, when the girl came down 
after tea dressed for her walk. 

•“It's quite early, though it’s dark, mother ; many of 
the shops are lighted still, and I know every inch of 
my way. I'll arrange to come home with the Coph- 
letes ; their garden-boy always fetches them.” 

“ After her fright this afternoon, probably poor Miss 
Cophlete won’t care to go out at night.” 

“ Oh yes, she will ; you know her faith in the Cad- 
dleton police arrangements is boundless ; don’t be 
nervous, mother ; ” and Florence, as she spoke, bent 
down and kissed her mother, and whispered, — 

“Doctor Sheffield has my letter; he won’t come in 
to-night.” 

Then she went out, and Mrs. Maunders and Kathleen 
drew their chairs nearer to the fire, and began, the one 
to knit, the other to read. 

Presently Kathleen looked up from her book with an 
air of expectancy and excitement. 

“ I wouldn’t say anything till Flo’ had gone, but — 
Doctor Sheffield is coming in this evening ; he told me 
so — I met him this morning.” 

“He nearly always tells us he is coming if we meet 
him, and frequently doesn’t come.” 

Mrs. Maunders spoke with filled indifference. She 
had good reason to suppose that Florence’s note would 
keep him away on this occasion, and she had also 


30 


THE KI LB URNS. 


good reason for hoping that he might be kept away 
until — well, until she could contemplate a certain por- 
tion of her part mere -calmly than she was able to do at 
present. 

“The Parkventon people always employed papa, 
didn’t they ? ” 

“You know that none of the Kilburns have been at 
Parkventon since I came to Caddleton, dear.” 

“But before that; when they were at Parkventon, 
they employed papa, so I suppose they’re sure to em- 
ploy Doctor Sheffield.” 

“ It’s useless for me to make any promise on the sub- 
ject.” 

“But, mother dear, don’t you feel interested ? Don’t 
you like Doctor Sheffield that you won’t feel a little in- 
terest in his career ? ” 

“I am sure he will have a prosperous one, for he is 
clever and cautious.” 

“Clever! yes, indeed, everybody knows that who 
knows anything about him ; but ‘cautious,’ ‘cautious,’ 
isn’t exactly the word I should use if I meant to praise 
a person.” 

Mrs. Maunders laughed and refrained from saying 
that she felt no ungovernable impulse to praise Doctor 
Sheffield. She only remarked, — 

“You remember what Burns says : — 

‘ Prudent, cautious, self-control 

Is wisdom’s root.” 

“ Where does he say that ? I’ll get a Burns and find 
the poem and you shall read it to me, mother.” 

So she searched the bookcase and found a copy of 
Burns’ poems, and listened to that pathetic appealing 
condemnation of the faults and follies of genius, which 
begins with the words, — 

“ Is there a whim-inspired fool,” 


CAUTION AND CHARITY . . 


31 

The search for the book and the reading of the poem 
tided her over the next ten minutes pleasantly enough. 
Then she began to cast furtive glances at the clock, 
and to wonder why he was so late. 

“ Perhaps Doctor Sheffield has been called to see 
some case of sudden illness, mother ? " 

“ Very likely/' 

“A doctor's life is a very hard one." 

“A very hard one— one of the noblest and hardest 
that can be lived by man." 

“I think so too, mother!" The bright blue eyes 
sparkled with the ominous sparkle that in emotional 
natures invariably precedes tears. 

She struggled against the semi-hysterical feeling 
for a few moments, as she had no desire to present a 
blurred and tear-stained visage to his observation when 
he came in. But it was no use ; with a gasp, the tears 
of suppressed hope, love and suspense rose and fell. 

Mrs. Maunders kept her eyes riveted on her knitting, 
discreetly, till Kathleen had .recovered her composure. 
Her heart was full of sympathy and pity for her child, 
but for that child's sake she did not dare to show it. 

(“He's obstinate among other things, and may cling 
to the forlorn hope of getting Flo, all his life," ) Mrs. 
Maunders was thinking, when they were startled by a 
sound of many feet rushing up the street, and by the loud 
ejaculation 3 and hum of many voices. Involuntarily 
they both rushed to the street door — an unspoken dread 
of some evil having befallen Florence filling their hearts. 
A crowd was passing swiftly, bearing some object along 
in the midst of it. In answer to Mrs. Maunders’s almost 
frenzied inquiries, her fears were set at rest by dispirited 
answers from several stragglers. A gentleman had 
been knocked off his horse and half-murdered by afoot- 
pad, who had got off across the fields in the darkness. 


32 


THE KILE UP NS. 


She was stepping back into her house, murmuring the 
prayer of thanksgiving : 4 ‘Thank God, not Florence ! ” 
when Doctor Sheffield came out from the thick of the 
crowd. 

“Mrs. Maunders, you will be doing me a great ser- 
vice if you will let me have this poor fellow laid on a 
bed in your house ; there is no room prepared at my 
rough bachelor quarters. We won’t trouble you long. 
Fve no doubt but that I shall be able to have him re- 
moved in a carriage to-morrow." 

“ He spoke, and beckoned to the bearers of the in- 
jured man as he spoke. He took her consent so entire- 
ly for granted, that she would have felt as if she were 
acting inhumanly had she refused it. So Doctor Shef- 
field's unconscious patient was carried up and laid 
on the bed in the spare chamber, which was painted 
and decorated entirely by the skilful fingers of the 
two daughters of the house. When his wounds were 
dressed, and he had quite recovered from the stunning 
effect of a blow on the side of his head from a blunt, 
heavy instrument, the patient was left under the soothing 
influence of a composing draught ; and his doctor went 
down and told Mrs. Maunders that the sufferer to whom 
she was extending her hospitality was “one of the 
young Kilburns — one of Lord Rollamore’ssons. ” 

“I shall go to Parkventon to-night, but I shall not 
allow either^Lord or Lady Rollamore to see their son 
till the morning," he added ; and Mrs. Maunders slight- 
ly bent her head in assent, and said, — 

“In the meantime I will nurse Mr. Kilburn to the best 
of my ability. But I hope it will be neither a serious 
nor a long case." 


LORD ROLLAMORE IS GRATEFUL. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

LORD ROLLAMORE IS GRATEFUL. 

There was a good deal of gossip that night in Cad- 
dleton about the dramatic accident to one of the young 
Kilburns. Some of it was amiable and some of it 
unamiable, but it was all a little wide of the mark, as it 
is the manner of gossip to be very generally. Little of 
it was founded on fact, most of it was heavily ornament- 
ed with conjecture, and all of it was bristling with cu- 
riosity. Some good-natured people fnurmured that “ it 
was a pity Lord Rollamore’s sons should retain the al- 
most forgotten traditions of their race, by rambling about 
in evil company at night ; ” and added, that “it was 
lucky for the injured young man that he was taken into 
the house of such an irreproachable person as Mrs. Maun- 
ders.” Others, less good-natured, ignored the first part 
of the case altogether, but hoped that the enforced so- 
journ of Lord Rollamore’s son in the widow’s house 
would not end in his making a mesalliance with one of 
the widow’s daughters. Just a few regarded the tramp 
as a myth, and half-hinted that “young Kilburn had 
been knocked off his horse and sustained the consequent 
injuries by too many brandies and sodas.” And fewer 
still were content to acknowledge that they knew noth- 
ing whatever about the matter, and had no means of 
obtaining information. 

The real facts of the case, though unpleasant to the 
“Young Kilburn n in question, were simple enough. 
In the afternoon, Fergus Kilburn, finding that he was 

3 


34 


THE KI LB URNS, 


being rapidly rocked to sleep in the cradle of his race, 
Parkventon, had by an effort of memory, for which he 
blessed himself, remembered that he knew several of 
the fellows in a regiment then quartered in the Citadel. 
Failing to incite his brother to walk to the station, and 
go in to Plymouth by train, he had borrowed the vener- 
able roadster that belonged to the steward, and ridden 
across many a mile of rough moorland, till he got into 
the Tavistock road, from which point to the Citadel 
was plain sailing. He had stayed, recalling old times, 
in Gib and Halifax, playing billiards and puffing cigar- 
ettes for an hour or two, and had started to ride back to 
Parkventon to dinner, just about the time of the first 
Parkventon dinner-gong sounding. He had tried two 
or three short cuts, which were easy as the alphabet to 
the men who knew them, but were puzzling to him as 
a stranger, owing to the peculiar resemblance every 
turn to which he came bore to the one he had lately 
passed. As he lost his way he lost his temper, and so, 
when a sturdy and insolent beggar advanced from a 
dark hedge and laid a detaining hand on the bridle 
While he demanded alms, he was met by a slash 
from the Honorable Fergus’ hunting-crop, which trans- 
formed the beggar into a brute in an instant. 

With a blow the tramp knocked his prey from the 
horse, and with a large smooth stone he strove to batter 
in the brains of the one who had not meekly accepted 
his (the tramp’s) right to take when he had the power. 
Then hearing wheels approaching, he had possessed 
himself of Fergus’ watch and purse, and disappeared 
over the hedge into the darkness, just as Dr. Sheffield 
drove up. It was not till he got back to Caddleton, 
and had a little crowd around himself and the man he 
had succored, that Dr. Sheffield learnt that the man 
was one of Lord Rollamore’s sons. Then at once he 


LORD ROLLAMORE IS GRATEFUL . 


35 


made up his mind that Mrs. Maunders should take the 
sufferer in. He could hardly tell himself why he de- 
sired to get “ young Kilburn” under the shelter of the 
widow’s roof. But he did desire it, and he did feel 
intuitively that “ something would come of it. For one 
thing he felt that a patient in the house would give him 
the right of entrance to it more freely, and consequently 
bring him more frequently into contact with Florence. 
For another, he knew that Lord Rollamore would come 
there to see his son, and would then, in the nature of 
things, see Mrs. Maunders also. 

This contingency was prominent in Mrs. Maunders’s 
mind also. But she looked in the glass and faced it 
composedly. The plain cap that had succeeded to the 
widow’s, surrounded a sweet, good, true face, that was 
very charming to the eyes of the many who knew and 
loved her well. But there was scarcely a trace left in 
it of the face that had met her vision when she looked 
in the glass quarter of a century ago. 

‘‘Time is very merciful,” she said with a sigh; 
“more merciful in the changes he makes sometimes, 
than in leaving people apparently untouched.” 

She had not much time to spend in moralizing in 
solitude and idleness on this subject, for the patient in 
her spare room occupied her full attention for the re- 
mainder of that night, and the shop claimed her in the 
morning. When Dr. Sheffield sent a hospital nurse to 
take charge of the case. Kathleen and Florence went 
on with the home life, and the teaching life, just the 
same as before the accident, though, to. the delight of 
the former, Dr. Sheffield was continually in and out. 

Early in the day Lord and Lady Rollamore had both 
come over to see their son, and finding him comfortably 
quartered and manfully resigned to remaining where he 
was comfortable, they had gone away quite at peace in 


THE KI LB URNS. 


36 

their minds about him. His injuries were not very 
serious after all. One ankle was sprained, and they 
were assured that had the stone been used as a batter- 
ing-ram against his head, one hair’s-breadth to the right, 
the consequences would have been fatal. As it was, 
Dr. Sheffield predicted that with ease and quiet, his 
recovery would be speedy. 

“And I can promise that he will have every care and 
perfect quiet here,” he said gravely, addressing young 
Kilburn’s mother. 

To this her Ladyship replied graciously, that though 
she was “quite convinced of this,” she still hoped that 
it wouldn’t be necessary to tax the kindness of the 
excellent person who kept the shop for long. 

“ Of course everything will be ordered for my son 
from Parkventon ; but his occupying their room must 
be an inconvenience to them,” she said considerately. 

And then Dr. Sheffield, with a grim sense of the 
humor of the situation, inquired if “ Lady Rollamore 
would not like to see and thank Mrs. Maunders her- 
self.” 

“ Certainly, unquestionably ! ” Lord Rollamore an- 
swered, after his habit, for his wife. “We had better 
see her, and give the good woman to understand that 
she will be remunerated for any trouble or incon- 
venience which my son’s occupancy of her room may 
cause her.” 

Dr. Sheffield smiled his grave acquiescent smile, and 
led the way into the drawing-room, where he left them 
while he went to summon Mrs. Maunders to the inter- 
view, for which she had nerved herself by a look in the 
glass. 

“ Lady Rollamore wishes to express her gratitude to 
you — she is up in the drawing-room.” 

She looked up from her occupation of sorting the 


LORD ROLLAMORE IS 'GRATEFUL. 


37 


November magazines, and addressing them to the re- 
spective subscribers, and for the first time since he had 
known her, he read in her face an expression of steady, 
proud power, which was a quality he had recognized 
in her daughter Florence. 

“ Tell Lady Rollamore that my duties chain me to 
the counter just now. She needn’t express gratitude for 
the little I have done or can do for her son. I would 
do the same for anyone.” 

“ You’ll make them uncomfortable — they’ll fancy you 
want to avoid them,” he said, and she instantly dropped 
the magazines, and followed him up to the room in 
which he had left them. 

Lady Rollamore was standing sideways to the window, 
through which she was studying Caddleton ways and 
people, facing the door. Her husband, who, though 
he had been the one to order the interview, for the ex- 
pression of the Rollamore sense of gratitude, felt the 
whole thing to be a bore, was turning over the pages 
of a large photograph album, when Mrs. Maunders 
came in and stood quietly waiting for one of them to 
speak. 

In a moment the prospect of offering some slight 
compensation to the excellent person vanished from 
Lady Rollamore’s mind. But her noble spouse was by 
nature more obtuse, and by habit and constant practice, 
more regardless of the feelings of others. He closed 
the album abruptly, — it annoyed him that he should 
have been caught in the act of showing the faintest in- 
terest in the excellent person’s belongings. 

“ Lady Rollamore wished to see and thank you, and 
give you to understand that your kindness will not be 
unrequited. We shall certainly, all of us, remember 
and recognize it. Meanwhile, we should wish matters 
to be managed for Mr. Fergus Kilburn’s comfort here 


THE K I LB URNS. 


38 

precisely as if he had agreed upon taking the lodgings 
on your own terms before the accident.” 

“ But Rollamore ! ” Lady Rollamore began, advanc- 
ing hastily, her face scarlet from the mortification and 
pain she felt at the blunder he was making. But Mrs. 
Maunders’s unruffled cold tones cut in and made them- 
selves heard above her Ladyship’s. 

“ Your Lordship is most considerate ; the bill shall 
be made out when Mr. Fergus Kilburn goes away.” 

“ Meanwhile, let his mother thank you,” Lady Rolla- 
more whispered, and she put her hand out and touched 
the widow’s. 

“ Which was a foolish and effusive thing to do,” Lord 
Rollamore remarked, when he got his wife to himself 
in the carriage. “ I don’t like the look of that woman 
at all. Someone tells me she has good-looking daugh- 
ters ; and you know what Fergus is.” 

“ A staunch conservative — ” 

“ Ah, well ! I can only tell you that I’ve known a 
stauncher social conservative than Fergus ready to ruin 
his prospects for a pretty face.” 

“ Fergus is far too much like you to be a liberal in 
matrimony, whatever he may be in Love,” she answered 
good-temperedly. 

It was the only bit of sarcasm in which she dared to 
indulge herself. 

“ Fergus mustn’t think of marrying any one for some 
years to come, unless a girl with a big fortune drops 
from the clouds within his reach. As for Gilbert, he 
ought to be thinking of marrying, but there must be 
money — money ! ” 

“ Gilbert at least may afford to please himself.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense !” He spoke dejectedly, not 
crossly, and this being a new departure in his manner 
it roused her attention. 


DR. SHEFFIELD FLAYS HIS FIRST TRUMP. 39 

“Why, Rollamore,” she said sympathetically, “you 
are surely inventing disagreeables. You were rich be- 
fore you married me ; and I was not a poor woman, 
and our boys have never been extravagant.” 

“ Gilbert will have to keep up the title — you forget 
that,” he said uneasily. 

“ And he will have more than his grandfather, and as 
much as his father had to do it on.” 

A slight strain of anxiety mingled with her tenderness 
as she said this, and he responded to it pettishly : 

“There, there! drop the subject; it’s one that no 
woman ever properly grasped yet. Only mark what I 
say, Lady Rollamore, if you encourage your eldest son 
to make a moneyless marriage, you’ll both live to re- 
pent it. After all, I thank God that it’s Fergus who is 
laid up in that woman’s house. What he does isn’t of 
so much consequence.” 

“What has caused this sudden outbreak of parental 
fears?” she asked laughingly. “You haven’t seen 
Mrs. Maunders’s daughters ! Why should you dread 
their attractions ? ” 

“I saw a photo of one in that album, and it remind- 
ed me of a girl I once knew — she’s dead long ago — who 
was a devil of witchery. That’s why and how. Don’t 
say any more about it.” 


CHAPTER V. 

DR. SHEFFIELD PLAYS HIS FIRST TRUMP. 

It was a week since Fergus Kilburn’s disagreeable 
encounter with the tramp, who had battered and robbed 
him. Still the offender was at large, “in spite of the 
utmost vigilance and well organized efforts of the 


40 


THE KI LB URNS. 


police,” according to the local papers. And still Dr. 
Sheffield's patient was unfit to be removed from Mrs. 
Maunders's house, in spite of the most untiring and 
incessant medical skill. 

To say that the widow was pleased that the invalid 
should still remain in her house, would be to assert too 
much. But she was resigned to it, and able to root out 
the impatience which her soul had felt after that brief 
interview with his father and mother. When in her 
first hour of wrath and mortification she had permitted 
herself to repeat to her daughters the words and tone of 
business-like superiority with which Lord Rollamore 
had offered her payment for what she had done, they 
were disposed to ask the hospital nurse to pack up the 
Honorable Fergus and remove him as soon as possible. 
But a little quiet reflection showed them that this would 
be a crude admission of being chagrined, as well as 
an act of cruelty to the unfortunate young man. But 
though they banished the desire for revenge, they could 
not succeed in banishing the remembrance of the 
insult. 

“ He must have seen you were a lady. No one could 
look at you for a moment, or hear you speak, without 
knowing that,” Kathleen said. 

“And if he's a Christian, he must have felt that a 
fellow-christian could have done no less than mother 
did. To his assuming that vile dross was her motive, 
shows he has but a heathenish heart. Confess, mother ! 
didn't you hate him when he spoke to you in that 
way ? ” 

Mrs. Maunders looked far more thoughtful than the 
occasion warranted as she answered : — 

“I must confess that I despise Lord Rollamore.” 

“Does he know that you're a doctor's widow?” 
Kathleen asked. The position of doctor's widow 


DR, SHEFFIELD PL A YS HIS FIRST TRUMP . 41 

ranked next only in her estimation to that of a doc- 
tors wife. 

Her mother laughed. 

“My dear child, do understand that Lord Rolla- 
more, if he took the trouble to know or think about us 
at all, would probably rank us with the widow and 
children of his late butler ; and I don’t blame him,” she 
added shortly. “To do so is merely to be true to the 
social creed which he and his fathers before him have 
been taught and professed. ” 

“You said just now you despised him, and now you 
say that you 4 don’t blame him.’” 

“I’ll own that I’m not very consistent to-day ; will 
that satisfy you, and shall we finish our dinner in order 
that I may take the nurse’s place for a time while she 
has a walk. 

“ Mother, you’re not going to turn yourself into a ser- 
vant for this young man ? Let Lord Rollamore send 
another nurse, if two are wanted. Why should you 
wait on him.” 

“ Because he is here helpless to be waited upon, Kath- 
leen, and because the nurse, being a human being and 
not merely an intelligent machine, requires rest, food 
and exercise — none of which she can take in a sick- 
room.” 

“ Does Doctor Sheffield know—” 

“ Yes, Doctor Sheffield does know,” her mother said 
good-temperedly. “Now you’ll believe there is no 
degradation in my doing what I can to help.” 

“ As if degradation and you could ever be named in 
the same day, mother,” Florence said hastily. “ I wish 
I could help you.” 

“ So you can — stay in the shop for the next hour, 
Flo. Miss Cophlete promised to come in and do her 
best while I relieved the nurse, but I shall feel better 


42 


THE KI. LB URNS. 


satisfied if I know you are there ; such a number of 
magazines have to be sent out to-day.” 

“ At least,” Mrs. Maunders thought, as she was 
wending her way up to the sick-room, ‘'there’s no fear 
of Lord Rollamore’s coming into the shop to-day, so 
Flo may safely be there.” The widow felt a sense of 
absolute relief in the conviction she had that Lord Rol- 
lamore, having paid the one duty visit to his injured 
son, would give Caddleton a wide berth for some time 
to come. She quite forgot the probability of the advent 
of another member of the family at Parkventon. In 
fact, she had only heard of one “young Kilburn ” as 
yet, and he was safe under her own eye in her spare 
bedroom. 

She seated herself by the side of the sleeping man, 
and fell to wondering if he were “the elder of Lady 
Rollamore’s two sons — if he were the heir to the title 
and large landed property which was entailed in the Kil- 
burn family ? ” And as she looked on him, and thought, 
“ What a dear good face the boy has,” her heart began 
to ache dully again with that heavy, depressing, half- 
remorseful ache which always oppressed it when she 
thoGght of Lord Rollamore and his family. “I am suf- 
fering as much for that early cowardice as if I had com- 
mitted a crime,” she told herself. It was true ! She 
was suffering more from the regret that never slept for 
having been weakly generous and foolishly afraid, than 
many women would have suffered from the memory of 
a crime, or the sorrow for a sin. 

The hospital nurse went out for her ordered walk, 
followed for some distance by all the little idle boys in 
Caddleton, who regarded her long gray cloak and bon- 
net as belonging to the same order of iniquity as the 
“ Old Guy ” whom they were wont to burn with reli- 
gious zeal on the 5th of every November, One of the 


DR. SHEFFIELD FLA YS HIS FIRST TRUMP . 43 

boldest and most enlightened spirits among the little 
crowd went so far as to heave a half-eaten cider apple 
at her, and shout, “ Theer go an old nun ! ” But on 
her turning round, laughingly picking up the apple and 
sending it back to him with a well-directed aim that 
made his fat cheek sting, they discontinued their atten- 
tions, and looked elsewhere for amusement. 

Kathleen was out giving music lessons. Doctor 
Sheffield had seen her pass his house about half-past 
two — immediately after the nurse, in fact. He knew 
that Mrs. Maunders would be sitting with his patient, 
and he had heard that Miss Cophlete would be attend- 
ing to the shop. It would be a good opportunity for 
having a few words with Florence ! For before putting 
the pressure, which he felt he had it in his power to 
put, upon Mrs. Maunders, he thought it best to plead 
his own cause verbally with the girl, who probably 
didn’t know her own mind. 

Before going out, he stepped back into a little private 
room behind the surgery, which had been the late 
Doctor Maunders’s sanctum, and was now the cosy 
nook in which Doctor Sheffield spent his quiet evenings. 
One of the prettiest pieces of furniture in the quaintly 
picturesque little room was an old brass-handled bureau, 
in which the account-books of the late medical prac- 
titioner had been, and those of the present one were 
kept. “ There are no secret drawers in it ; it has only 
been used for business-books, papers, and letters,” the 
widow had said to him when handing him the key 
years ago. But though there were no secret drawers, 
he had found something inside the cover of a book 
which neither the man he had succeeded nor the widow 
of that man would have had him find for all the poor 
little worldly wealth of which they were possessed. 
And that something was a little letter ! — a mere little 


44 


THE KILBURNS. 


tender epistolary burst of gratitude and affection, which 
Mrs. Maunders had once written to her husband during 
one of her brief absences from home. 

This letter Doctor Sheffield now read over carefully. 
“ It is very little, but enough for my purpose, I think/’ 
he said to himself. Then he smiled as he thought that, 
though if it came to a point, he would not hurt a hair 
of Mrs. Maunders’s head, or, more correctly speaking, 
a fibre of her heart. Yet he was ready to push hereto 
the extremity of that point for the sake of forcing her 
to use her influence with her daughter — an influence 
which, if used successfully even, would only force an 
unwilling wife into his arms. 

He replaced the letter, re-locked the bureau, picked 
up his list of visits for the afternoon round, and walked 
off to pay his first, after ordering his man to call for 
him at Mrs. Maunders’s door in three-quarters of an 
hour. He went in through the shop to save time, and 
found Miss Cophlete sitting in amiable bewilderment 
behind the counter, and Florence writing down an 
order for various newspapers and periodicals which a 
servant in the Rollamore livery was giving. She looked 
up and greeted him heartily. 

“ I’m so glad you’ve come in ; here’s a note for Mr. 
Kilburn ; the man says he’s to wait for* an answer, and 
mother gave orders that no one was to disturb the sick- 
room till the nurse came in. What shall I do ? ” 

“Give me the note,” he said, walking out and upstairs 
to the drawing-room as he spoke. As Florence had the 
note in her hand, she was obliged to follow him. 

As she passed into the room, he shut the door and 
took her hand. 

“ Florence,” he began, very gently, “ don’t look 
frightened ; I am a pertinacious, but not a rough lover. 


DR. SHEFFIELD PL A VS HIS FIRST TRUMP. 45 

Your letter was written hastily. Tell me that I may 
destroy and forget it ! ” 

“ Do — do — be just as we have always been/' she 
said, hurriedly, and she managed to slip her hand away 
from his, and retreat a yard or two. 

“That's absurd," he said, more sharply than it was 
judicious for a lover who was not sure of his ground to 
speak. “ I will gladly destroy and forget your letter, 
if you will tell me now that you will write me a kinder 
one ; or, better still, if you will say kinder words to me 
now. I love you very much, Florence ; tell me you 
will try " 

She came nearer, and held her face towards him. 

“ Look at me," she said, earnestly. “ Do I look as 
if I was speaking the truth ? — do I look as if I am half- 
frightened ? — because I am." 

He stared at her wonderingly, and said, — 

“ You do ! but why ? " 

“ I'll tell you why," she interrupted. “ Doctor Shef- 
field, you have known us, Kathleen and me, since we 
were little children, and you've always been kind, 
equally kind, to us both. But you have never done any- 
thing to make me look upon you as a lover." 

“ I have asked you to marry me." 

“ That was only yesterday ; I am speaking of all the 
years I've known you. Why should / love you any 
more than Kathleen does ? " 

“ Because I love you, and never shall love her." He 
rang out the words loudly in his bitter disappointment, 
and the sound, though not the sense of them, brought 
Mrs. Maunders, with her fingers on her lip, from the 
sick-room. 

“ Hush! you noisy doctor, you have startled your 
patient from his sleep — come in. Oh, a letter for him 
is there ? — well, you will deliver it?" 


46 


THE KI LB URNS. 


She spoke quickly and tried to get him away, but he 
thought he saw his opportunity, and took it. Half 
despising himself for the meanness, he still acted 
meanly. 

“ I was asking Florence to give me another answer 
than she gave me in her letter yesterday. Mrs. Maun- 
ders, I love your daughter, Florence, so well, that I will 
stop at nothing — at nothing — that may influence her to 
accept me for her husband. You, knowing this, will 
help me — for all our sakes. ” 

He spoke earnestly, respectfully, but with a meaning 
emphasis that struck vague doubt into the daughter’s 
heart, vague fear into the mother’s. Again Mrs. Maun- 
ders asked herself the question, “Does he know little or 
much ? everything , or only a dangerous part ? ” And 
again she had to admit that, without his aid, which she 
did not dare to ask, she could not answer that question 
in any way. 

“I can say nothing more to-day. I must have time 
to speak to Florence/' Mrs. Maunders said hurriedly, 
forgetting in her agitation that she had as yet said 
nothing on the subject. But the answer quite satisfied 
Doctor Sheffield. He was not an inconsiderate tyrant, 
impatient to have his will worked at any cost to the 
workers of it. He was only a man who wanted to 
have one woman for his wife and another woman’s 
help to make her so. And he meant to have what he 
wanted — if he could. 


GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO ELORENCE. 


47 


CHAPTER VI. 

GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO FLORENCE AND FEVER. 

The people at Parkventon, the neighborhood observed 
with pleasure, were being re-established in the old 
family seat in a most promising manner. The stables 
were filled with horses. The gardening staff was aug- 
mented, and three or four new vineries and pineries 
were planted, to the joy of the local builder and glazier 
who had the job. A large portion of the house was re- 
decorated and re-furnished. These latter things, not 
to the delight of the local decorators and cabinet makers, 
— for Lord Rollamore put these important matters in 
the hands of London firms, who sent down their own 
artists to re-design, and re-construct, and re-arrange the 
interior of the mansion. Rumors were rife of a house- 
ful of grand company at Christmas, and the younger 
hearts among the county people beat high in anticipa- 
tion of a colossal ball on a colossal scale of magnificence 
and sumptuously artistic expenditure. 

For a short time Lady Rollamore took little notice of 
the lavish departure into hitherto unknown realms of 
extravagance. Her thoughts were greatly occupied 
with her two sons — with Fergus, who was still suffer- 
ing in body, and with Gilbert, who was disturbed in 
mind. 

She was notin any very painful anxiety about Fergus. 
She saw him daily, saw that he was as well nursed and 
cared for as if he had been at home, and knew that he 
was absolutely ignorant of the attractiveness of the two 
daughters who had been deemed possibly dangerous to 


48 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


him by his father. As for the fluctuations in his case, 
they were neither unnatural nor alarming. When- 
ever he felt better for an hour or two he would talk, 
and then his head would get much worse, and h& 
would relapse into dull painful stupor for a time. 
And as soon as he thought his ankle was well, he 
tried it by springing out of bed, thereby, re-spraining 
it, and causing himself and nurses much unnecessary 
pain and trouble. 

Nevertheless, on the whole, he was progressing 
favorably, and was quite happy and moderately con- 
tented. He was delighted with his doctor, who would 
often give him an unprofessional hour, pleased with his 
nurse, and interested in Mrs. Maunders. Lady Rolla- 
more would have been glad to see him about and able 
to join the bright home life for a few weeks before join- 
ing his ship for the gunnery course, but she was not 
poignantly, grievingly anxious about him as she was 
about Gilbert. 

This, too, not on account of anything Gilbert was 
doing or had done or left undone. But because some 
of his views were opposed — righteously enough — to his 
father's, and his actions would soon be shown to the 
world to correspond to his views. 

Because of these things, and because of something 
else of which Gilbert knew nothing yet. This last 
trouble was a subtle and essentially womanly one. It 
was one that perhaps only a woman who is a mother 
can appreciate. And this was the knowledge she had 
of his fathers intention of working upon Gilbert to the 
uttermost of his power to make him marry a girl who 
was not congenial to him. 

Lady Rollamore had only just obtained this very 
painful and demoralizing knowledge, and it made every 
thing — the bright home atmosphere, the lavish expends 


GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO FLORENCE . 49 

ture, the comfort and beauty and luxury of all about 
her — seem hollow and unreal ! Why, if these things 
were, if this extravagant display of pomp and vanity 
and wealth were profitable ? Why should the heir to it 
all be in danger of being goaded or persuaded, beguiled 
or coerced into making a marriage that would be dis- 
tasteful — perhaps detestable — to him ? 

The knowledge had come upon her unexpectedly. 
Her husband had, in fact, been exasperated into im- 
parting it to her by some reasonable protests she was 
making against the magnitude and scale of expenditure 
of the projected ball. 

“ I understand what I’m about It’s necessary that 
Mrs. Torrens should see that we don’t mind flinging 
our hundreds away in pleasure, or we- shall never get 
her thousands into the family.” 

“But, Rollamore, the woman is odious to me, her 
mock piety, her vulgar worldliness, her uiter unreality, 
— you can’t contemplate — ” 

“Getting my son to marry her daughter — but I do. 
Now it’s no use throwing up your hands and looking 
distracted. I know better what’s good, % what’s needful 
for my boy than you do, and I tell you that it’s needful 
for Gilbert to marry a millionaire’s heiress. Her 
mother, the Torrens’s girl’s mother, is willing so far, but 
if you and your son give yourself any confounded airs 
of aversion, or even of indifference, the scheme will be 
exploded, and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing 
that you’ve ruined your son.” 

“ I will be heard, 1 will raise my voice against so un- 
warrantable a scheme. Miss Torrens is a girl of whom 
neither Gilbert’s heart nor judgment could approve — ” 
“Bother his heart and his judgment,” Lord Rolla- 
more interrupted angrily ; “ If I have an ounce of 
authority over my son she shall be his wife — she’d do 
- ’ 4 


50 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


anything to be ‘ Lady Rollamore ’ — he’ll rue it to the 
last day of his life if he resists my authority, for in spite 
of his theories, he’s as little fitted to cope with poverty 
as any of you.” 

“ He never could be called upon to cope with pov- 
erty — he is your heir — ” 

“ How you harp on that,” he said, speaking and look- 
ing at her more savagely than he had ever spoken or 
looked at her before. “ How you’ll repent thwarting 
me, and interfering with my plans for the happi — for 
the good of my children when I’m gone.” 

“Oh, don’t threaten me so awfully,” she said shud- 
dering; “ trust me, don’t threaten me, Rollamore. You 
know that with all my heart and soul and strength 
I will go with you in any efforts you make for the hap- 
piness, for the real good of our children. But this pas- 
sion for more wealth at any price, no, no, I can’t share 
it or encourage it, or do anything but hope and pray 
that my son may not fall a victim to it.” 

So the father and mother were at variance, and in 
spite of all the splendor, there was little peace at Park- 
ventoiio * 

Though nothing has been said of their visits to him, 
it must not be supposed that Fergus Kilburn’s brother 
and sisters neglected him ; on the contrary, they paid 
him daily calls, but as these calls and what transpired 
during them have had nothing hitherto to do with the 
story, they have not been recorded. But on the day 
after the strife of tongues between Lord and Lady 
Rollamore, Gilbert Kilburn went to see his brother, 
and while on his way to him, some things material to 
the furtherance of the story of the fortunes of the Kil- 
burn family did happen. 

He met Florence Maunders, and he heard from Doc- 
tor Sheffield that fever had broken out in some cottages 


GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO FLORENCE . 


51 


belonging to his father at Wreymouth End, in conse- 
quence of the faulty sanitary arrangements, and dilap- 
idated condition of the cottages generally. 

He was hearing this — hearing with a grieved spirit 
of the dirt and poverty, the sickness unrelieved and 
squalor unrebuked and unremedied which existed on 
this portion of his father’s estate from Doctor Sheffield, 
and unconsciously the story of sordid misery was set- 
ting its stamp on his character — and so on his life — 
when another element that was to be very potent with 
him was introduced, also by Dr. Sheffield. 

“I see Mrs. Maunders's daughter just ahead of us, 
Mr. Kilburn ; I'll join you again in a moment, if you'll 
allow me." 

The two men had been walking along together when 
this interruption occurred. Gilbert had cut across by a 
field-path from Parkventon into the Caddleton Road, 
and had then been overtaken by the doctor on his way 
back from visiting the fever-stricken Wreymouth pa- 
tients. 

“ Will you introduce me to Miss Maunders ? I have 
had the pleasure of seeing and thanking Mrs. Maunders 
for her goodness to my brother, but I have not been 
introduced to the younger ladies of the family yet." 

Doctor Sheffield was pleased. He intended to marry 
Florence, though he had not received one word or sign 
of encouragement from her, therefore it was quite in 
the polite and proper order of things that the future 
Lord Rollamore should solicit an introduction to the 
local doctor's future wife. He effected this introduction 
with an air of tender, manly proprietorship in the girl 
which was very perceptible to Mr. Kilburn, and which 
amused him at the time, and annoyed him later on. 
At the same time he observed, with a certain sense of 
satisfaction, that the young lady was neither embar- 


52 


THE KI LB URNS. 


rassed nor self-conscious, nor very much pleased at 
meeting with her friend. 

“Tm on my way to call on my brother/* Gilbert ex- 
plained ; “he’s getting on so fast, thanks to the excel- 
lent nursing and doctoring he has had, that we shall be 
able to relieve you all of him in a few days, I suppose.” 

Florence felt that there was neither suppressed pat- 
ronage nor a desire to discharge the obligations of the 
Kilburn family to the Maunders’s with money, so she 
let herself answer as her impulse dictated. 

“ My mother is the only one of the family who has 
had any trouble with your brother, and she likes him 
so much that, I think, she’ll be quite sorry when he’s 
well enough to go.” 

“ How is he ? Have you seen him to-day ? ” Gilbert 
asked, and Florence’s clear, dark cheek crimsoned as 
she answered, — 

“Indeed, neither I nor my sister have seen him at 
all. My mother has helped the nurse, and we have 
helped my mother when we could by attending to the 
shop.” 

“ She needn’t have drag’ged 'the shop’ in,” Doctor 
Sheffield thought. He did not exactly dislike the idea 
of his future mother-in-law keeping a shop, but the idea 
was an angel that he did not always entertain well 
when taken unawares. On the present occasion, for 
instance, he was just feeling that it was quite an agree- 
able thing to get about the place that he and his future 
wife were taking a friendly stroll with Lord Rollamore’s 
heir ! “A nice young fellow,” the doctor pronounced 
Gilbert to be ; “a young fellow with no nonsense 
about him. He’s sure to get his mother and sisters to 
call on Florence when we’re married.” It was jarring 
that into the midst of these reflections should cut 
Florence’s crude reference to “ the shop.” 


GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO FLORENCE . 53 

“ It’s generally a case of 'the labor we delight in 
physics pain ’ with the people who have to do anything 
for Fergus,” Gilbert Kilburn went on ; “ he’s such an 
inexhaustible cheerful fellow. My mother used to call 
him her ‘ heart of feather ’ when we were children in 
the nursery ; and when we used to fight and give each 
other black eyes, he was always so bright and affable 
about it, that it was invariably taken for granted that I 
was the one to blame in the matter.” 

“ My mother was telling us that he h&s the great 
charm of always assuming that every one likes him, 
and he’s got a lovely, forgiving nature. He told my 
mother this morning that if that poor wretch who half 
murdered and robbed him was caught, he should try to 
beg him off, for most likely he was hungry. ” 

“ I’ve no sentiment about the tramp myself; he was 
a cowardly brute to use a stone on the head of a man 
who was down. I hope he’ll be caught soon, for it’s 
not a pleasant reflection that he may be about our paths 
even now, come to the end of his resources, and, as 
Fergus would plead, hungry enough to justify him in 
attacking some one else.*’ 

“ I hope when he is caught that he will turn out to 
be a stranger, and not one of these parts ; but I don’t 
think that we have any desperate characters ‘ growing 
on the soil ’ round here.” 

“ I don’t know, Florence,” Doctor Sheffield said, in 
his best-weighed words and manner, “ there are some 
ruffianly fellows down at Wreymouth End. They’ve 
not been grown on the soil, but they have come to live 
there under the promise of work, and now the work 
has failed them, and their dog kennels of houses are 
filled with fever. Half the people down there are 
starving.” 

‘ ‘ Why ? ” Gilbert asked. 


54 


THE KILE UR NS. 


“ The work they relied upon having through the 
winter had failed/' 

“ What work was that ? ” 

“ In the marble quarries on Lord Rollamore's estate," 
Doctor Sheffield answered, speaking distinctly. He 
had no wish to hurt the feelings of the Honorable 
Gilbert Kilburn, but he was determined that the heir to 
the property should know the tyranny that the agent 
for the property was exercising over the wretched em- 
ployees. “ The work has been stopped by Mr. Wilson 
until such time as the men will take half wages. If 
they accept these terms, they'll starve slowly. Until 
they do accept them, they are starving fast." 

“It is impossible my father can know of this. I 
pledge myself that the wrong shall be righted at once," 
Gilbert said earnestly. “You see we have been here 
for so short a time, my father has had no time to look 
into things for himself, but I pledge myself this mon- 
strous state of things shall exist no longer. Lord Rol- 
lamore would wish me to act for him instantly in a case 
of this sort. If I could see Mr. Wilson — he lives down 
here at Caddleton, I believe ? " 

“You won’t find him at home at this hour, Mr. Kil- 
burn. Moreover, he would tell you what he told me, 
probably, that he was acting under Lord Rollamore's 
orders. Mr. Wilson is not a hard man generally. You , 
must remember he is only the agent." 

“Then I will go to my father," Gilbert said, and he 
did not see the expression of resigned incredulity, or, 
perhaps, more correctly speaking, of dogged doubt 
which overspread Doctor Sheffield’s face. 

“ Lord Rollamore probably has good reasons for giv- 
ing the order. I only — as the parish doctor — tell you 
of the miserable state of things physically which the 
carrying out of that order has caused. As you say, 


GILBERT IS INTRODUCED TO FLORENCE . 55 

probably Lord Rollamore knows nothing- of the effect, 
and may feel that his agent’s account of things justify 
the action. In fact, Mr. Kilburn, I’m afraid absentee- 
ism won’t work better in England than it has done in 
Ireland. You’re not annoyed at my plain speaking, I 
hope ? " 

“On the contrary,” Gilbert said, warmly, “Im ob- 
liged to you for having used the spur. If I can neither 
find the agent nor influence my father, I can at least go 
down to Wreymouth End and try and help the people 
myself.” 

“Oh, there’s fever there, don’t go ! ” Florence said, 
hastily. 

It was a relief to her that they had reached her 
mother’s door as she spoke, for Doctor Sheffield began 
explaining to her that if Mr. Kilburn took proper pre- 
cautions, he might go with the same safety as he — 
Dr. Sheffield — himself did. 

“And you know you’re never nervous on my ac- 
count — very sensibly,” he added. 

Mr. Kilburn heard these words as he was mounting 
the stairs to his brother’s room, and thought, “And she 
never will be nervous on your account, my good fellow. 
I’m sorry for you.” 

Gilbert Kilburn had a long and serious conversation 
with his brother that day. When he was leaving, the 
younger brother said, — 

“ For heaven’s sake don’t tell him what you’re going 
to do till I’ve joined my ship. The house won’t hold 
him — though he is building a good bit to it,” he added, 
with a laugh. 

“Building on to it, though it’s as big as a barrack 
already, and compelling the wretched tenants of the 
Wreymouth End property to herd like cattle, to the de- 


THE KI LB URNS. 


56 

struction of their bodies and souls, in those pestilential 
kennels.” 

“ Don’t pose as a reformer till you’re independent of 
the governor, Gilbert. If you run counter to him, he’ll 
cut down your allowance, and make the mother suffer 
— he always did.” 

“ I can never be more independent of him than I am 
now.” 

“ Yes, you can ; you may marry money. The girls 
tell me Mrs. Torrens and her daughter are coming at 
Christmas, and we all know what that means.” 

“ An immense amount of constraint and humbug, 
generally ; nothing more, as far as I’m concerned.” 

“ May Torrens isn’t a bad girl. I have only seen 
her once or twice, but I should think she knows how 
many half-loaves make a whole as well as any one.” 

“ Bad or good, she’s uninteresting to me,” Gilbert 
said, as he slowly rose and picked up his hat and stick. 
“ I shall be glad to have you home, old fellow ; good- 
bye till to-morrow. ” 

“ Here,” Fergus called out, “ take this book down to 
the library below, and ask one of the daughters to pick 
me out a good thriller.” 


CHAPTER VII. 
mrs. torrens’s pet. 

Christmas was rapidly approaching — full of fun, and 
frolic, and festivity for some — full of furtive fears and 
dismal despondency for others. This divergence of 
feeling and sentiment on the approach of Christmas is 
almost entirely due to the power of the purse. Those 
with gold in the latter can meet the great annual season 


MRS. TORRENS'S PET. 


57 


of reckoning and settlement with a smiling visage. 
Those about whose purses not even the unsavory odor 
of the proverbial brass farthing hangs, are apt to regard 
the joviality and good cheer, the peace and good-will, 
as so many exploded myths. 

This Christmas that was approaching was full of 
premise of very pleasant things to Mrs. Torrens, the 
widow of a recently deceased and enormously wealthy 
city man, whose personalty had been sworn as under 
four hundred thousand pounds about twelve months 
ago. With the dead Mr. Torrens this story has noth- 
ing whatever to do. One thing only need be recorded 
of him, and that is, that he was the most patiently de- 
voted, kindly confiding, absolutely trusting husband that 
ever fell to the lot of a scheming, suspicious, grasping 
narrow-minded wife. 

He had married her for love in her not unattractive 

»« 

girlhood, and he had loved her steadily for thirty years, 
during which time riches had increased upon him 
beyond his wildest expectations. She was always 
prudent, and given to the practising of small economics 
that did not interfere with her own comfort in any way, 
and these practices led him into the error of fancying 
that she was wise beyond the wisdom of other women 
in the dispensation of wealth. Accordingly, when he 
died, though he loved his only daughter dearly, he 
loved his wife still more, and trusted her entirely ; to 
this extent, namely, that he left everything he pos- 
sessed in the world to her, unconditionally, being 
“ convinced/' he said, that her true heart and judgment 
would lead her to dispose of it more wisely and use- 
fully than he could himself. 

The daughter, May, did not trouble herself much 
about the matter when the will was first made public. 
The girl had been accustomed to be dependent on her 


THE KI LB URNS . . 


5S 

parents all her life. It was of little consequence that 
she should go on being dependent on the one parent 
that remained, especially as over that parent she had 
considerable sway. But, as time went on, May some- 
times found herself wishing that her father had put it in 
her power to please herself, should her pleasure ever 
be in opposition to her mothers will. Little obstacles 
rose in her path that had never been there while her 
kind old father had been alive. Little economics were 
at first suggested, and then enforced, which had never 
been permitted in his time. And at length it came to 
the pass of the girl discovering that, though Mrs. Tor- 
rens was her mother, she was her mistress too. 

The widow still lived in the handsome mansion at 
Surbiton, which her late husband had rented for a long 
term, and been on the point of purchasing when he 
died. It was a great, grand house, full of luxuriously- 
comfortable furniture, and costly, precious works of 
art. In Mr. Torrens’s days, it had been a temple of 
hearty hospitality, the exercise of which had often 
wrung Mrs. Torrens’s penurious soul. For though 
this lady loved to have an obsequious crowd of satel- 
lites about her, she would have preferred to feed them 
cheaply, and give them small beer to drink at luncheon 
instead of wine of rare vintages. Now that things 
were entirely in her own hands, she pleaded her 
widowhood as an excuse for only entertaining in the 
simplest way. Accordingly, many of those who had 
been habitues of the house during Mr. Torrens’s life and 
reign drifted apart from his widow, partly because 
they did not want to see her, and even more because 
she did not want to see them. 

But there was one who had been a familiar friend in 
the millionaire’s life-time who retained his footing, and 
was a very familiar friend of the widow’s still. This was 


MRS. TORRENS'S PET 


59 


a man whom one would not have suspected, at the first 
flash of reflection off the subject, to be at all likely to 
become an object of interest to either the deceased 
stockbroker or his wife. But Mr. White, aesthetic 
painter, dreamy poet as he was understood to be, had 
taken their measure accurately on a first introduction, 
and, as he admitted to himself, “ they fitted him like a 
glove.” 

He had been made known to them through the med- 
iumship of an Aldermanic friend of theirs, whose por- 
trait, or rather the portrait of whose robes, he was 
painting in a casual way. 

“You want your wife’s portrait painted, Torrens ? 
Take my advice, and have White do it ; the man who’s 
painting me, you know. He's a capital fellow, a good 
deal of genius about him; and has been rather unfairly 
treated, I fancy, by those fellows on the press who call 
themselves critics — fellows who'd sell their souls for a 
mess of pottage, you know, and who know about as 
much of art as — as my coachman does.” 

Mr. Torrens had said in reply to this that he would 
think about it, and Mrs. Torrens had conjectured that, 
“as the young man was not well-known yet, he would 
probably be moderate in his charges.” The end of it 
was that Mr. White did paint the portrait of the self- 
satisfied lady, in a manner that made her regard him as 
a young man of immense promise and ability, for the 
portrait was that of a stately, graceful, benign lady ; 
and yet admiring friends were found ready to declare 
that “it was a life-like and speaking likeness.” 

After this, Mr. White discreetly spoke of Mrs. Tor- 
rens as “his patroness ” to people who were sure to tell 
her of it again, and this pleased her so that he soon 
found in her a ready market for all such works as he 
could not dispose of elsewhere, by the simple expedient 


6o 


THE K I LB URNS. 


of telling her that while he was working at such-and- 
such a view or interior, he was thinking of her talk and 
critical judgment, and striving to work up to it. 

He was a young man, not thirty yet, tall “ and slov- 
enly,” May called him ; Mrs. Torrens preferred to de- 
scribe him as “slender and willowy.” He wore his 
dark hair rather long, and spoke in deep, slow tones, 
and altogether affected the manner of the aesthetes 
without being possessed of the talent which made one 
tolerate the leaders of that phase of absurdity while it 
lasted. For, though he sold average pictures, and 
published poems that were on a par with the majority 
that drip from the press, a brutal doubt had been dis- 
seminated that they were not the offspring of his own 
hand and brain. “Some one in greater need than him- 
self,” it was said, in more or less plain language, “did 
for a wage do work for him that he foisted on the public 
as genuine.” 

It was a horrible accusation, and to an extremely 
high-minded and honorable man would have been 
crushing. Mrs. Torrens was ready at any moment to 
take her oath that Mr. White was both high-minded and 
honorable ; nevertheless, he remained uncrushed by 
the tainting accusation. Indeed, just about this time 
he was not only uncrushed, but remarkably cheerful, 
Mrs. Torrens said, and she had a good opportunity of 
judging, for he was established comfortably in an ex- 
temporized studio at her house, “The Rise,” making 
sketches for a set of views of her favorite “bits,” as she 
called them. 

Mrs. Torrens was enchanted at having him for a 
guest, for several reasons. One was that her love of 
small economics was run hard by her love of ostenta- 
tion. It had a sweet sound in her ears, and gave her 
a sensation of being possessed of almost regal power 


MRS. TORRENS'S PET 


6 1 


when she heard herself tell casual acquaintances that 
she “had a distinguished painter staying in the house 
whose services she had retained, she hoped, for some 
months to come/ 7 

“It is one of my little charities to encourage the strug- 
gling and deserving whenever I meet with them, 77 she 
would say, with a self-satisfied, saintly smile. 

And as the people to whom she said this refrained 
from telling her that they thought her a humbug, she 
had the additional pleasure of fancying they believed. 

Another reason was that, by this charitable course, 
she felt she was establishing a claim on this young 
man, — a claim on his selfishness, if not on his gratitude, 
— and she wanted to establish a claim on him. 

He was a young man, handsome, interesting, and 
clever (she believed), and she was a fat, ruddy, com- 
monplace woman, who would never see fifty-five again. 
Nevertheless, she liked to persuade herself that his adu- 
lation was paid to herself, not to her money. Her hus- 
band had loved and been slavish to her “for herself 
only 77 all his life. Why not this young man, who as- 
sured her that he preferred spending a quiet evening 
with her to going to any of those crowded and dazzling 
re-unions in London, where, according to himself, he 
was the idol of the hour ? She believed him. She 
wished to believe him, and a woman can constrain 
herself to believe anything she wishes in these cases. 

But there was contention between herself and May 
in consequence of his continued presence at The Rise. 
Shortly after her husband's death, she had contem- 
plated handing May and a huge fortune to Mr. White, 
with her blessing, and Mr. White had liked the pros- 
pect* But to May it had been unendurable. 

“I wouldn’t marry that sickly, lackadaisical creature 


62 


THE K I LB URNS. 


if there wasn’t another man left for me in the world,” 
May had said with vigor. 

The young lady had just been visiting an old school- 
fellow bride, whose husband was quartered at Aider- 
shot, and was suffering mildly from ‘ ‘ barrackitis” when 
her mother made the proposition to her. At first Mrs. 
Torrens was disposed to be rather angry, but she soon 
forgave May’s refusal to marry her favorite. What she 
could not so easily forgive was May’s aversion to his 
presence in the house. 

“ There’s one comfort, when we go to Parkventon, 
we shall get rid of Mr. White,” Miss Torrens remarked, 
with injudicious out-spokenness in a fit of annoyance at 
her mother’s making some engagement with him an ex- 
cuse for not going up to an Albert Hall concert. 

“ I wish you would remember, my dear child, that 
Mr. White’s presence is a great pleasure to me, and 
always was also to your dear father.” 

“ Poor dear papa ! He would have welcomed a 
hippopotamus for as long as it chose to stay, if you 
had asked him to do it.” 

“ And he was the master of the house, May,” Mrs. 
Torrens said significantly. 

“You mean that you are the mistress of it entirely, 
and /am nothing,” May said, with sudden anger.. “ At 
least I think that you might consider my happiness and 
wishes before those of Mr. White. I am your own 
child ! He is nothing, and never will be anything, to 
you.” 

“ He is a great help and comfort to me. More like a 
brother to me than a new friend.” 

“ Oh, mamma ! A ‘ brother ’ to you. To you! An 
affected young jackanapes like that! ” 

“ I insist, May, upon your speaking more respech 
fully of one of my best and truest friends,” Mrs. Tor- 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST. 


6 3 

rens said, speaking with laborious politeness and delib- 
eration, and this manner of her mother's irritated the 
already exasperated girl into replying, — 

“You may insist upon anything in reason, mamma, 
but you can’t insist on my being respectful to such a 
poor silly copy of a rather silly type. I hate the man ! 
He’s a feeble sham. I shall be delighted to get to Park- 
venton to shake him off.” 

Mrs. Torrens glowered in silent anger at her daugh- 
ter, and resolved that, as that young lady was going to 
be given the chance of attaining to great glory and 
honor by marrying Lord Rollamore’s heir, she would 
give herself the pleasure of extorting an invitation from 
Lord and Lady Rollamore for her protege as well. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. WHITE THE ARTIST. 

Gilbert Kilburn and his father had fallen into the 
ugly error of misunderstanding one another. There 
had been an open dispute between them on a point on 
which each man believed his own opinion to be the 
only one worth having on the subject. This point had 
been Gilbert’s selection of a career, and his final and 
fixed resolve to enter upon it. 

On the side of the son, there was this to be said, he 
had a strong, conscientious conviction that what he felt 
impelled to do was right in the highest sense of the 
word. On the side of the father, it may be argued that 
he had the strongest possible feeling that what Gilbert 
intended doing was utterly inexpedient from the pru- 
dent and worldly point of view. In each man there 


64 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


was a strong element of that firmness which is hardly 
to be distinguished from obstinacy. This quality came 
well to the fore in both of them at this crisis, and Lady 
Rollamore’s life was not a happy one. 

The cause of rupture had been simmering and seeth- 
ing in the family cauldron for some time before it boil- 
ed over. It has been said that Gilbert had debts, which 
his father promised to pay on condition the young 
man remained contentedly at Parkventon for the winter 
months. Being unable .to meet his liabilities in any 
other way, the young man had agreed to remain at 
Parkventon, but he could not bring himself to say or to 
affect that he did it contentedly. On the contrary, he 
declared that in remaining even for so short a time he 
was disregarding his duty: 

“Five years ago you thought it your duty to walk 
the hospitals, and after wasting your time in them for 
two years, you thought it your duty to get called to the 
Bar. Now you tell me you feel it your duty to take 
orders in the Church. If there was a good family 
living waiting for you, I could understand this phase 
of madness. As there isn’t, and we haven’t a shred of 
Church interest, it’s my duty to try and cure it,” Lord 
Rollamore said, working himself into a chilly passion 
as he spoke, and Gilbert answered, — 

“I don’t look forward to ever holding a living. I 
don’t want one. You’ll understand it better when I tell 
you that I feel my strength will be in working among 
outcasts. I shall try, after twelve months at a Theo- 
logical College, to get a title to Orders in one of the East 
End London parishes, and when I’m priested I shall 
try to get licensed as a missioner. Now you’ll under- 
stand that I don’t want interest and patronage at my 
back in taking Holy Orders.” 

“Good heavens!” his father ejaculated, too stag- 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST 


65 

gered for a time to word his horror and condemnation 
of the course which Gilbert proposed pursuing. There 
was a pause, during which Gilbert drew caricatures on 
the margin of the newspaper that was lying on the 
table before him. Caricatures of some of his friends in 
their first paroxysm of amazement at hearing the news 
of the decision to which he had come. 

When Lord Rollamore spoke again, it was to say, — 

“Mrs. Torrens will be deeply distressed and disap- 
pointed at — ” 

“Mrs. Torrens’s sentiments don’t concern me, hap- 
pily.” 

“ She has absolute power over her daughter, remem- 
ber.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, for her daughter’s sake. 
But again I repeat, that does not concern me.” 

“It will concern you when you find that your choice 
of a profession will prejudice your chance of marrying 
her daughter.” 

“ Nothing would ever induce me to marry her daugh- 
ter,” Gilbert said, boiling over with wrath, and ye.t 
quite alive to the absurdity of the situation at the same 
time. “ My dear father ! Surely this attenuated scheme 
isn’t at the bottom of your burdening yourself and my 
mother with Mrs. Torrens for a guest ? ” 

“ Mrs. Torrens has over four hundred thousand 
pounds at her absolute disposal, and only her daughter 
to leave it to. She is well inclined towards you. I have 
reason to know that.” 

“ Well inclined towards me ! I wouldn’t marry her 
or her daughter to save my life,” Gilbert said, seriously. 
Then he laughed. “ Mrs. Torrens for a mother-in-law ! 
Mrs. Torrens, with her 4 little charities’ and her self- 
righteousness, and her curious freedom from every 
generous feeling, to say nothing of her mock piety, and 

5 


66 


THE KILBURNS. 


her unbounded artificiality ! No, thank you, my dear 
father, I won’t enter those lists ! ” 

“ In your-charitable outburst against the mother, you 
forget the girl altogether. May Torrens is a nice girl, l 
and a good girl.” 

“ A nice, and, I really believe, a good girl,” Gilbert 
conceded heartily; “but a girl about whom I haven’t 
the faintest desire to know more than I do at present.” i 

“ That being the case with regard to May Torrens, j 
I trust it is the case with every other girl of your ac- 
quaintance ? ” his father asked sharply, and Gilbert 
replied lazily, — 

“ I can’t give you that assurance. I am very much • 
interested in a girl. Whether I shall ever get her to be 
interested in me remains to be proved. Until it is * 
proved, I shall say no more about her. But I promise 
you that, as soon as I know myself, I’ll introduce you to 
her, and you’ll think I’ve done well in renouncing 
Miss Torrens.” 

“ You have not — not gone down to the ranks below 
you in search of a wife, have you ? ” his father asked, 
with a choking gulp of disappointment and pain. “Gil- 
bert, if you have, I implore you to be candid with me ! j 
Thfust the fancy out before it drags you down and - 
fetters your feet, and makes your life a wretched lie. <1 
Marriage with a woman beneath him is a yoke on a_ 
man’s neck that effectually prevents his ever holding 
his head up among his peers again. Have it as you 
would like, for the commission of such a folly leads a 
man into sin sooner or later. Gilbert, spare me this 
crowning sorrow. God knows, I have had enough to 
bear in my life. ” 

Gilbert listened to this impassioned tirade very calmly. : 
It appeared to him to be a mere farrago of nonsense 
uttered in an unreasoning fury. “ Its not as if he had 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST 


67 

suffered from the folly he denounces so strongly him- 
self/’ the son argued, remembering that his father had 
married a woman whose family was as noble as his 
own, and that he had enjoyed twenty-eight years of 
quiet happiness with her. Accordingly, Lord Rolla- 
more’s jeremiad against the foolish iniquity of a man 
marrying beneath him made no sort of impression upon 
his son. 

“ I can assure you that if I ever marry, I shall marry 
the woman in whom I confess to you I am interested 
now — and it will not be a misalliance.” 

“ Then you will be a pauper, a poverty-stricken, 
beggarly curate all the days of your life.” 

Gilbert did not like to remind his father that as at the 
latter’s death he, Gilbert, would be the owner of all the 
Rollamore landed property, poverty was not the rock 
on which he need dread splitting. The reminder might, 
he thought, sound as if he were already calculating on 
the chances of such a contingency. So he contented 
himself with remarking that “ riches had no great charm 
for him, excepting for the power they gave of doing 
good to so much of down-trodden humanity as the 
possessors of them could reach.” 

“ If I haven’t money to give, I can give my work 
and my life to the cause I think deserving of them,” he 
said. 

And at this his father ranted at him again, calling him 
“ a fanatic,” and other hard names that failed to con- 
vince Gilbert that a “worldly” must of necessity be a 
higher and nobler life. 

“ Does your newly-born religion teach you to throw 
over the responsibility of keeping your promise to re- 
main here for the winter ? ” Lord Rollamore asked 
angrily, and his son told him, No, he intended to keep 
his promise, and remain at Parkventon for the winter, 


68 


THE KI LB URNS. 


and employ his time (usefully, he hoped ) in acting as 
lay-reader to the over-worked vicar of Caddleton. 

This was the one straw too much. Lord Rollamore 
had striven with himself, and moderated the rancor of 
his tongue up to this, though it had been horrible to him 
that his son was determined on throwing away abilities 
that would have ensured him a brilliant position at the 
Bar, in the lower walks of the Church. He had even 
put a bridle on his tongue when Gilbert had scoffed at 
and declined the marriage scheme for which he, Lord 
Rollamore, had lowered himself to plot and plan with 
Mrs. Torrens. But when it came to the pass of Gil- 
bert’s avowing that he meant to give his services as lay- 
reader to a parson and a parish just under his lordship’s 
nose, there came a crisis. 

“ I’ll have no cursed methodistical proceedings ema- 
nating from Parkventon, and no canting humbug intro- 
duced into the family life to mar the peace of it,” he 
raved. 

And when Gilbert quietly assured his father that his 
“ views were the reverse of methodistical, and that it 
was to the Church he intended giving his services, not 
to any form of dissent,” matters were not mended. 
Lord Rollamore declined to see any difference between 
a dissenting minister and “ a fellow who wasn’t a par- 
son, and who went about preaching and calling himself 
a Tay-reader.’ ” 

“ You’ll disgrace me in the eyes of the county,” he 
said savagely, and Gilbert controlled himself, and an- 
swered steadily, but without any exasperating coolness, 
that he “ most fervently trusted this would be the only 
disgrace that either of his sons would ever bring upon 
him.” 

There was a great deal more said between the father 
and the son, which need not be recorded here. It is 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST. 69 

enough to say that they separated, each strengthened 
in his opinion and determination, and that life for some 
time looked a very dismal, and low thing to Lord Rolla- 
more. 

“That he should prefer pauperism, obscurity, and 
drudgery to a splendid position and boundless wealth, 
with a nice girl for his wife, is incomprehensible, ” 
Lord Rollamore said to his wife, and she, being Gil- 
bert’s mother, loving him, and knowing him well, 
said : — 

“ He has done right ; he has done the only thing he 
could do, feeling as he does. He has not made the 
choice lightly. I know that. Even if he had to face 
pauperism and obscurity, as you say, I should counsel 
him to hold to his choice ; but he will never know 
poverty, however it may be about the drudgery and 
professional obscurity. He will be a rich man when 
we pass away, Rollamore, and, while we live, he can 
never want money/’ 

“ I tell you — ” Lord Rollamore was beginning, then 
he checked himself, and, after a moment, he added, 
“It’s an awful thing when a man is baffled in all his 
efforts to benefit them by fools in his own family. 
Here’s another pretty thing, too, another nice little 
idiotic plot been hatched to thwart and destroy me. 
Gilbert has fallen in love with some girl he has picked 
up in some of his Quixotic wanderings into places in 
which he has no business, and refuses to try his chance 
with Miss Torrens. What do you say to that? ” 

“I am not surprised that he should decline to be 
married to Miss Torrens against his will. I told you I 
felt sure you were nourishing a delusion when you 
thought to forward that scheme by inviting the Tor- 
renses here/' 


70 


THE KI LB URNS. 


“But about the other part of it. Do you know any- 
thing of this girl ? ” 

“Indeed I do not, Rollamore ; but, believe me, Gil- 
bert is incapable of falling in love with a low girl. She 
may not be a wealthy or titled girl, but, if he loves her, 
she’s a lady, and she is good” 

“Don’t split straws with me,” he growled angrily. 
“Probably she’s some Methodist preacher’s daughter, 
or she-missionary, who’s ready to help him in his good 
works ; or else she’s, a ballet-girl or barmaid, or both, 
perhaps, whom he has converted. Bah ! I’m sick of 
his follies, and you —you, his mother, are ready to en- 
courage him in them.” 

“I am ready to encourage Gilbert in doing every- 
thing he thinks right, for what he thinks right will be 
right. And now we will say no more about it. It 
would be a bitter thing that we should quarrel about 
our son’s choice when he has made such a good one. ” 

“ For mercy’s sake don’t rejoice over the downfall of 
every hope I had for the boy,” his father said miser- 
ably. “When I think of what will become of him if 
he lets the opportunity of getting the Torrens’s money 
slip, I feel completely broken and hopeless.” 

“This is being morbid, dear, ” she said, cheerfully; \ 
“you have always been over-anxious and over-sensitive 
about our dear Gilbert. I wish your heart could be at 
rest about him as mine is. He will be happy and con- 
tented in the profession he has chosen, irrespective of 
the rank and wealth that will be his when we are 
gone. ” 

She busied herself about some work she held in her 
hand, and did not observe the look of being tortured by 
fear and suspense which convulsed her husband’s face 
as she spoke. A moment after he roused himself, and 
resolutely checked the tide of thought which had been 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST. 


7 * 


flowing in such a miserable channel, by saying : — 

“ By the way, here's a letter I want to show you from 
Mrs. Torrens ; she wants me to invite an artist fellow, 
a friend of her late husband's, who is painting her por- 
trait, to come down with them. What can we do 
about it ? " 

4 ‘She asks for an invitation ? " 

“See what she says — ‘I shall esteem it a favor to 
myself if you will extend your hospitality to a friend of 
ours who is staying with us now. The fact is, I have 
asked him on a long visit ; he is painting my portrait, 
and I don't know what to do with him while we are at 
Parkventon. I feel that I may take this liberty with 
you and Lady Rollamore, for my dear husband regard- 
ed Mr. White as a brother.' " 

“ Dreadful woman ! " Lady Rollamore said shudder- 
ing. “I shall be very glad when she realizes that 
she may not take the liberty of making unreasonable 
requests to you and Lady Rollamore." 

“Meantime we must have this man, I suppose?" 

“ I suppose so ; who is he ? " 

“ I don't know," Lord Rollamore said curtly. 

He was seriously disturbed by the events which were 
happening in his immediate family circle, and it an- 
noyed him that a useless stranger should be projected 
thus unceremoniously into their midst. At the same 
time, he knew that if he refused the invitation for which 
Mrs. Torrens had somewhat peremptorily craved, she 
would be offended, and small as his hopes were now of 
bringing about a union between Gilbert and Mrs. Tor- 
rens’s daughter, he clung to that forlorn hope, and 
shrank from giving her any cause, however slight, of 
offence yet. 

“ I should write and tell her that every room is oc- 
cupied," Lady Rollamore went on. 


72 


THE K I LB URNS. 


“We can't do that — can't possibly do that ; she's capa- 
ble of making inquiries when she comes here, and find- 
ing out some remote unoccupied hole, and confounding 
us altogether. He must come, I suppose, and so we 
had better let him come with a good grace. I think I 
remember to have seen his name in the Academy cata- 
logue ; he must be a decent fellow, or he wouldn't have 
been a friend of old Torrens's." 

“ I hope he is young, and in love with May Torrens, 
and she with him," Lady Rollamore said. “If that’s 
the case, Fll see all manner of good in him." 

So it was settled, and a letter was written inviting Mr. 
White to Parkventon that same day. 

The house soon began to fill, and among the earlier 
arrivals was Mrs. Torrens, her daughter, and Mr. White. , 
The latter was so happily engrossed with himself and 
his patroness, that he made himself entirely at home at 
once, and was quite oblivious of the perfectly polite, j 
but delicately distinct, way in which Lady Rollamore 
stiffened her manner to him. The painter, who was a 
poet too, according to his own account, was not in the 
least sensitive, and, together with Mrs. Torrens, laughed 
at what he termed Lady Rollamore’s local prejudices, j 

“ Probably she's afraid that one of her daughters may 
fall in love with me, and, not knowing that my soul 
is in bondage to other fetters, she fears that I may 
respond," he said to Mrs. Torrens, who laughed and 
tossed her head, and called her hostess “a ridiculous; 
woman for thinking of such things." 

“ My plan always has been, never to think that a 
man is in love till he tells the woman so plainly. It's 
the plan I've gone on with myself, and the plan I shall v 
go on with May." 

“Your plans are always perfect," he murmured. 


MR. WHITE THE ARTIST. 


73 

“ Dear lady ! shall we get on a little with the portrait 
now, or shall I read to you ? ” 

“ Read that last poem you wrote/’ the lady ordered, 
and, as flesh is weak, especially bard’s flesh, the author 
complied with alacrity. 

While he was reading, the other men were out shoot- 
ing. The sport was good, for though Lord Rollamore’s 
cottages had gone to ruin during his long absence from 
Parkventon, his game had been well preserved. One 
of the keenest shots of the party was the family law- 
yer, Mr. Wyndham, whose father and grandfather had 
been the Rollamores’ family lawyers before him. Keen 
shot as he was, he was elderly and rheumatic, and so, 
when a howling easterly wind got up, he listened to 
words of wisdom from his host, and agreed to walk 
home with him. 

They had much to talk about, for Wyndham was 
fully — very fully — in his host’s confidence. The lawyer 
listened to his friend’s account of Gilbert’s mad choice 
of a profession, and suspected penchant for some girl in 
an inferior position to himself — listened thoughtfully, 
and, when Lord Rollamore had finished speaking, re- 
plied, — 

“ I hoped, when I heard that Mrs. Torrens was here, 
that it was settled between Gilbert and her daughter. 

I I am sorry — more than sorry — for the lad, Rollamore. 
Does Mrs. Torrens know that he is holding back? ” 

“She has not said anything. Her whole time is 

I taken up with a fellow she has got in tow — an artist 
called White — ” 

He paused abruptly, for Mr. Wyndham had come to 
a dead stop. The lawyer’s face was blanched, and 
working painfully. He opened his mouth, but no 
sound came forth for a moment or two. Then he asked 
hoarsely, — 


74 


THE KILBURNS. 


“ You don't mean a man who paints portraits badly, 
and writes poems, and gives himself the air of an 
aesthetic — long-haired, tall, and rather striking-look- 
ing ? ” 

“The same, I should think," Lord Rollamore said 
carelessly, and then Wyndham put his hand on his 
client’s arm, bent forward, and whispered a few w T ords. 

For a full minute Lord Rollamore stood still as if 
turned to stone. Then he gave a groan, staggered, and 
fell forward in a fainting fit. 

They were near to one of the gardener's cottages, 
luckily, and the gardener’s wife was an athletic person, 
who made light of picking up the larger portion of Lord 
Rollamore, and helping Mr. Wyndham to carry him 
into her cottage, where he was soon brought round by 
the means of a little brandy from the lawyer’s flask, and 
cold water on his head and hands. When he recovered, 
he looked dazed and shaken, as if he had suffered from 
a bad fall. They were silent for the greater part of 
their homeward walk, but when they neared the house, 
and saw Mrs. Torrens and the artist strolling to meet 
them, Lord Rollamore turned his white-drawn face 
slightly towards his companion, and muttered, — 

“God forgive me ! The man is odious to me, Wynd- 
ham.’’ Then they were joined by the man in question 
and his companion, and the lawyer had a good oppor- 
tunity of observing Mr. White the artist in one of his 
most auspicious moments. 

In fact, the poet-painter, as he loved to call himself, 
was very much elated, and this by a very mundane 
and extremely unpoetical circumstance. He had read 
his latest poem with such effect to Mrs. Torrens, that 
she had been betrayed into the mature folly of w T armly 
admiring what she did not in the least understand in 
the composition. On the strength of this, he had re- 


“ UPON MY WORD , MA Y! ” 


75 


minded himself that though she was charged with quali- 
ties that were uncongenial to him — though her physique 
gave him the shudders, and her voice rasped his nerves, 
she was a woman with upwards of four hundred thou- 
sand pounds at her disposal, therefore a woman to be 
won ! Accordingly he had laid siege to her widowed 
heart with a fearlessness that was born of the knowledge 
that if he failed he would suffer neither in heart nor 
pocket, while if he succeeded he would be four hundred 
thousand pounds to the good ! 

He had succeeded ! 


CHAPTER IX. 

“upon my word, may!” 

All this time, Mrs. Maunders had been going on her 
way — and that way had seemed as uneventful as ever — - 
as quietly as she had gone for the last twenty-five years. 
Doctor Sheffield came and went continually yjithout 
either advancing or receding from that place he had 
held with Florence all along ; and Kathleen took his 
visits to herself complacently and confidingly and was 
happy. 

The Christmas holidays had commenced, and were 
wearing away, and, at their expiration, Florence was to 
go to that school in Exeter to which she was to give her 
services in imparting all sorts of knowledge in return for 
board, lodging, and thirty pounds a year. It was not 
a dazzling prospect, but the girl was satisfied with it. 
Prospects that had opened before her eyes had never 
been of the dazzling order. She was satisfied, for, by 
so many pounds a year she would be better off than 
she had been with Mrs. Hunter, and those few extra 


THE K TLB UR NS. 


76 

pounds would give her nicer boots and gloves, and 
enable her to offer prettier birthday presents to her 
mother and Kathleen. 

That brief interlude, during which one of the “ young 
Kilburns ” had been sick and a sojourner in their house, 
was almost forgotten. Even local gossip had ceased to 
speculate as to whether “ the poor young man ” had, out 
of idleness and gratitude, permitted himself to be “ smit- 
ten ” with one of Mrs. Maunders’s pretty daughters. 
The fact that the Honorable Fergus had never so much 
as cast eyes on one of the pretty daughters was not 
generally known. However, Mrs. Maunders had her 
house to herself again, and the Honorable Fergus was 
heart-whole. 

But Fergus' elder brother Gilbert had a good deal on 
his mind that stood between himself and his rest. He 
had never been able to forget the bright beauty and 
pleasant self-possession of the girl to whom Doctor Shef- 
field had introduced him with such a happy air of pro- 
prietorship on the Wreymouth Road. She pleased him 
more than he had ever been pleased before by a girl out 
of a book. He wanted to know more of her, and he 
didn't knowhow to set about achieving his object with- 
out putting either her or himself in a false position. 
He had not fallen into an idiotic, headstrong passion for 
her, but he had been attracted and pleased by her more 
than he had ever been attracted and pleased by any girl 
whom he had hitherto met. 

“ If she is what she looks, I shall be awfully fond of 
her,” he admitted to himself after seeing her once. 

After a second meeting, he admitted nothing, even 
to himself. Had he done so, the admission would prob- 
ably have run thus, “ I am awfully fond of her, 
whatever she is. ” 

Mrs. Maunders was driving rather a brisk trade about 


“ UPON MY WORD , MA Yt ” 


77 


this time. Parkventon was full, and the visitors at 
Parkventon had to be supplied with all the daily and 
weekly literature, and with as many new novels as 
Mrs. Maunders could put down for their consumption. 
Once a day, at least, a smart dog-cart, or comfortable 
wagonette, or well-appointed close carriage would be 
seen stopping at Maunders’s while some envoy from 
Parkventon would be giving orders for, or fetching 
what had just arrived, in the way of light literature. 

Fergus made himself very useful at this juncture. 
He could not join the shooting parties on account of 
his ankle still being weak, but he could drive down for 
the London daily papers, which came by train, and he 
was always ready to do so. As May Torrens liked 
“ meeting the papers, and getting the first peep at 
them,” she said, she frequently went with him. So 
Fergus was usefully employed, and consequently 
happy. 

Once or twice May s mother remonstrated with her 
on the imprudence of her conduct. 

“ When is that sailor going to join his ship? ” she 
would ask. “ Far better you would spend your time in 
going about the hamlets and seeing the poor with Mr. 
Kilburn, May.’ ? 

“ Somehow or other, Mr. Kilburn makes me feel that 
he doesn't want me,” May said, happily candid in her 
indifference to Gilbert. 

“ Mr. White thinks that Fergus is hoping to get hold 
of your — my money.” 

“ Mr. White’s thoughts are always worded in an un- 
gainly and revolting way when he speaks on the spur of 
self-interest, ” the girl answered angrily. ‘ ‘ He sees that 
Mr. Fergus Kilburn likes me, therefore he wants to make 
you dislike Mr. Fergus Kilburn, and he’ll succeed, of 
course he will. ” 


7 $ 


THE K I LB URNS. 


“ May, it is high time that you learnt to exercise 
more control over your caprices. ” 

“ Mamma, that phrase has been put into your mouth 
by that odious man.” 

“ I insist upon it that you speak more respectfully of 
Mr. White. His talents ought to command civil atten- 
tion from you, let alone the fact that he was a great 
friend and favorite of your dear papa s, and that he is 
one of my dearest — my very dearest friends.” 

“ Mamma ! ” 

The surprise and horror the girl managed to impart 
into her tone in that one word made Mrs. Torrens un- 
comfortable. 

“ Pray don't scream at me in that way. May, if you 
listen quietly, I have something to tell you — something 
you will be very pleased to hear if you have a proper 
affection for me, and are not wholly selfish. Mr. White 
is younger than I am, but he has an old head on his 
shoulders, and he values people for what they are , for 
their sterling qualities, and not for their looks and youth 
only. He and I agree on most points, and — and, well, 
May, the truth is, he has done me the honor of asking 
me to marry him, and I have promised to do. so.” 

May stared at her mother in undisguised dismay, 
tinged with disquiet. That Mr. White should have been 
her mother's chosen and familiar friend had been bad 
enough, but that he should be put in the place of her 
dead father — put in authority over herself — was crush- 
ing. Moreover, she was stung additionally by the 
thought of what the verdict of the world would surely 
be. 

“ They’ll say mamma is the Queen of Fools, and he's 
the Prince of Knaves, ” she thought, but for a time she 
said nothing, she only looked at her mother. 

By-and-bye Mrs. Torrens asked, pettishly, — 


“ UPON MY WORD , MA Y/” 


79 

“ Aren't you going to speak, child? Its not very kind 
or considerate of you to be struck v ; .r» this way 
when I confide my hopes and intentions . u. Some 
mothers wouldn't have thought it necessary to tell a 
daughter at once of so tender and delicate a matter." 

“ Oh, mamma, don’t ; don’t do this,’’ May burst out, 
startling herself even by the vehemence with which she 
spoke. “ Neither he nor you can be thinking of doing 
it for love — that’s quite out of the question.’’ 

Here Mrs. Torrens managed to gasp out, — 

“ Upon my word, May ! ’’ but May went on without 
heeding the interruption. 

“And, as for respect , how can you feel it for such a 
man — a poor, false creature, who is nothing but a pre- 
tender, who gets other people to paint his pictures and 
write his poems ? Oh, mamma, you’ll be wretched, 
wretched, with such a sham as that ! ” 

“ Stop !” Mrs. Torrens burst forth. She had been 
working herself up into a greater fury as each one of 
May’s heart-felt and eloquent sentences fell upon her 
ears. * Somewhere, away in the recesses of her foolish 
heart, the widow was conscious that what she intended 
doing was a very weak thing indeed. At the same 
time, she had a very strong aversion to being told that 
any one else entertained the same opinion. So now 
she raved out “Stop ! ’’ to her recklessly frank daughter, 
determining to make the girl suffer for having made her 
(the widow’s) vanity smart. “ Stop, May, before you 
are mad enough to utter words that I never can for- 
get, and perhaps never can forgive. It is time indeed 
that I secured to myself the love and consideration I 
shall receive from Mr. White, when my daughter stabs 
me with words that are sharper than a serpent’s tooth. 
I warn you. May, I can be very firm when a principle 
is at stake, ^nd I shall be very firm now. If you can- 


8o 


THE Kl LB URNS. 


not bring yourself to treat Mr. White with the respect 
his relationship towards you will soon command, I shall 
be obliged to make some arrangement for you that will 
leave the peace of my home undisturbed. ” 

“ You'll turn me out for that cuckoo, mamma ? You 
don't mean that ? ” 

“You put things in a very hard and painful way, 
May, and no doubt if you do find it impossible to live 
in the same house with Mr. White, you will tell people 
I have turned you out. Why, oh, why have children 
so little regard for their parents' feelings in these days ? 
Have I ever denied you anything ? Have I not in- 
dulged you in every way ? And now, because it is my 
wish to ensure the constant companionship of one who 
will be a support and stay to us both — ” 

At this juncture the support and stay lounged into the 
room in the purple velvet coat which he wore during 
those hours which he was supposed to devote to paint- 
ing. As he entered, May made her escape, and, run- 
ning downstairs in a whirlwind of indignation and 
excitement, encountered Fergus in the hall. 

“ I'm just going to drive into Caddleton to change 
some books, Miss Torrens. Will you come? ” 

“I will," she assented; and as soon as they were 
seated in the dog cart, she burst forth with the story of 
her mother’s weakness and her own wrongs. 

He began by offering her comfort ; before they re- 
turned to Parkventon, he was offering her love. 

The news of the wealthy widow’s engagement had 
spread through all the household before the shooting- 
party came home, and Mr. White fancied himself the 
hero of the party, for that day at least. He had always 
held a high opinion of himself and his claims to fortune, 
and now indeed it seemed as if the fickle goddess had 
smiled upon him, and chosen him for her darling child. 


GOOD INTENTIONS FT US TEA TED. 


81 


He would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Of 
the woman who was confidingly about to endow him 
with -that wealth, he scarcely thought at all. 

Nevertheless, he kept up a pretty little game of pre- 
tended attention and devotion to her, rendering her 
rather exaggerated homage in public, and inventing all 
sorts of little fancy historiettes of his birth and ancestry. 
The real facts of the case concerning him, as far as he 
knew them himself, were these. Of his father, nothing 
was known, and his mother had died while he was too 
young to have any recollection of her. From a firm of 
London lawyers, who declared themselves ignorant of 
his parentage, and were pledged to secrecy as to the 
source of the supply, he received an income of five 
hundred a year. 

“That is all I know about myself,” he said to Mrs. 
Torrens, and she, relieved to find that he had' no poor 
relations, told him it “ was enough.” 


CHAPTER X. 

GOOD INTENTIONS FRUSTRATED. 

Though Lord Rollamore had looked very ghastly 
when he first caught sight of Mr. White after Mr. 
WyndhanTs whispered communication, and though he 
had said to his lawyer, “God forgive me — the man is 
odious to me,” he had shown no open hostility or dis- 
gust to the artist. On the contrary, when the latter 
gentleman had proclaimed his good luck with the 
widow, Lord Rollamore was almost the first to wish 
the oddly-assorted pair “ well in their wooing.” But 
for all this self-control which he displayed, he was a 

6 


82 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


badly-shaken and an utterly unnerved man. It was 
true that rumor, which soon reached the servants’ hall, 
said that Lady Rollamorehad an evil time of it with him 
that day. 

“Why should you grieve so terribly? Why should 
you say that this marriage spells ruin to your hopes, Rol- 
lamore ? ” she asked piteously for the twentieth time. 

“Don’t torture me with questions, you’ll know soon 
enough, ” he answered irascibly. Then he went on to 
tell her that a reasonable woman, to say nothing of an 
affectionate mother, would have fathomed the cause of 
his disquietude. “You know I wanted that idiotic 
old woman’s money for Gilbert. Now it will all flow 
into the coffers of a man who will have everything 
man wants without it.” 

“ My dear,” she protested, “ I have understood that 
Mr. White is without much private means, and that he 
is not very liberally repaid for his poems and pictures, 
whereas our Gilbert will have the title, and abundant 
means to keep it up.” 

“Will he ? — ah ! ” Lord Rollamore groaned. 

“Besides, Gilbert might not have had the money 
even if he had fallen in love with the daughter. ” 

“Then he should have secured the mother.” 

“ Rollamore ! ” Words would have failed to express 
Lady Rollamore at this suggestion. So, after uttering 
his name with an accent of withering reproach, she 
went away, leaving her husband to repent him at 
leisure of having slighted Gilbert’s claims to the blue 
ribbon of the matrimonial turf. 

Lord Rollamore was not alone very long. He w T as 
soon joined by Mr. Wyndham, and no other was suffer- 
ed to be present at their interview save misery, whom 
they were powerless to exclude. 

There was more startling news of a family nature to 


GOOD INTENTIONS FRUSTRATED. 


83 

be imparted to Lord Rollamore before nightfall. Fer- 
gus, about whom he had never entertained either fears 
or doubts, came in quite cheerfully and asked to “have 
a yarn” with his father. To do him justice, he did not 
spin a needlessly long one, but came to the point at 
once, like the frank sailor he was. 

“It’s no use cringing round the subject, so T 11 tell 
you at once that Fve asked May Torrens to marry me, 
and she has said yes, provided you consent. We’ve 
neither of us much fear about that, for I suppose you’d 
just as soon she should marry me as marry Gilbert, and 
we know you tried to give that match a fair wind. ” 

Lord Rollamore hid his face in his hands, and, in an- 
swer to Fergus’s alarmed inquiry, he merely moaned. 

At length, just as the patience even of the affection- 
ate son was getting exhausted, the father lifted his head 
and spoke. 

“ Leave me now, Fergus ; don’t speak of this matter 
to any one — not even to your mother, till to-morrow. 
I have had an appalling blow to-day, my boy, a blow 
that has fallen upon me as a just punishment for a folly 
of my youth. But it is not the less heavy because it is 
deserved, Fergus. Spare me more to-night, my boy. 
To-morrow I may be able to explain myself to you — 
and Gilbert.” 

Fergus, touched and frightened by the novel atmos- 
phere of mystery and misery in which his father was 
enveloping himself, went away sobered unto sadness 
in the very first flush of his engagement, and, as he 
could not see May before the morning, he passed a 
sleepless night, conjecturing what “to-morrow ” would 
bring forth. 

It brought forth woe unutterable to the wife and 
children who loved Lord Rollamore, for, with the 
dawn of day, it was discovered that Lord Rollamore, 


84 


THE KI LB URNS. 


though still living, was as unconscious of all things as 
the bed on which he was lying. 

“ A paralytic stroke from which he will never recover 
consciousness/' the doctor said. 

Poor Fergus, in the midst of his natural grief, found 
himself wondering if the secret he and Gilbert were to 
have heard would now be buried with their father, or if 
it would come to light and smite them. 

Mrs. Torrens received the news of her daughter's 
engagement with great equanimity. As was, of course, 
only natural, all the guests took their departure from 
the sorely-smitten house at once. But, before she left, 
Mrs. Torrens conveyed her desire to Fergus that he 
should claim his bride without delay “under any cir- 
cumstances. ” 

“Poor dear Lord Rollamore’s state will compel us to 
have a very quiet wedding for May, but I am sure she 
will not object. With Mr. White’s consent, I am pre- 
pared to allow her three hundred a-year for her sepa- 
rate use. You, as Lord Rollamore’s second son, will 
have your mother’s fortune, I presume ? ” 

“The younger children, girls and boys, are to share 
that equally. ” 

“Oh ! you’ll be quite comfortably off with that and 
your pay/’ Mrs. Torrens said condescendingly. “ My 
altered prospects oblige me to do less for my dear child 
than I should have done if I had not taken upon 
myself the noble duty of furthering Mr. White’s career 
with my fortune. As it is — ” 

“ As it is, I don’t want your three hundred a-year; 
Til take May without a penny,” Fergus interrupted dis- 
dainfully ; and Mrs. Torrens resolved to take him at 
his word. 

The old lady and her young lover left immediately 


GOOD INTENTIONS TEDS TEA TED. 85 

after this, and the unfortunate daughter was dragged 
away with them. 

“I will soon fetch you, my darling,” Fergus whis- 
pered, as he bid her good-bye ; and the gleam of hap- 
piness which came into the girl’s pretty face made Mr. 
White spiteful. 

“It’s a pity you could not bring yourself to favor the 
elder instead of the younger son, May. Had you done 
so, your mother and I would have made a suitable al- 
lowance to your rank, for you would soon have been 
Lady Rollamore. I hear the old man can’t last long.” 

“ It’s a sin and a shame of May to have let the title 
slip,” Mrs. Torrens added indignantly. “ She knows I 
had set my heart on having a title in the family. ” 

“You can buy one in France for Mr. White,” May 
said contemptuously ; by which little bit of ill-tem- 
pered sarcasm, though she scored one against him for 
the moment, she made an enemy of Mr. White for 
life. 

When the house was cleared of the guests, when 
even Mr. Wyndham, who found himself helpless and 
useless as things were, was gone, Parkventon almost 
resumed its air of normal quiet. All gayety, all visiting, 
all stir and bustle and merry excitement ceased. The 
only relaxation the girls gave themselves was an oc- 
casional walk or drive into Caddleton ; while, as for 
the boys, Gilbert devoted himself to the well-being of the 
people on his father’s property, and even, indeed, to the 
entire management of the property itself, and Fergus 
rejoined his ship. 

They were none of them greatly exercised when they 
read florid accounts of the tremendous preparations 
which Mrs. Torrens was making to duly celebrate her 
marriage with White the artist. Sometimes they laughed 


86 


THE KI LB URNS. 


over the accounts of her almost regal trousseau , which 
were published in advance. Sometimes they felt dis- 
gusted that this mother, twho could lavish so much on 
herself, should let her daughter marry Fergus without 
giving her a penny. But, as a rule, they took no in- 
terest in either White or his antique bride. 

While things were in this state, Florence Maunders 
was being subjected to attentions and manifestations of 
feeling from Doctor Sheffield that would have been 
very flattering and delightful to her had she loved or 
even very much liked him. As it was, they annoyed, 
disturbed, and displeased her, especially as Kathleen 
was beginning to discover that she was not the magnet 
that drew him so constantly to their house. 

With the unreasonableness of a girl very much in love, 
Kathleen began to accuse her sister of being inclined to 
unduly attract and fascinate the man whom she saw 
was holding aloof from herself (Kathleen). Jealousy 
made her unjust and injudicious, and, if the truth must 
be told, a trifle malicious. 

The malice developed itself on the day when it was 
finally settled that Florence should after all remain and 
help her mother at home for awhile, instead of Exeter. 
Mrs. Maunders had come to this conclusion, apparently 
without any reason, on the day the report reached her 
of Lord Rollamore’s being stricken down beyond all 
hope of recovery. Curiously, too, from this time Mrs. 
Maunders’s own health seemed to fail. It was more 
than ever necessary, that one of the girls should relieve 
the mother of either the labors of housekeeping or of 
the shop. Kathleen seemed incapable of hoisting any 
additional burden on to her own shoulders, by reason 
of the weakness engendered by her infatuation for 
Sheffield. So it was decided that Florence should stay 
to be her mother’s right hand. 


GOOD INTENTIONS FRUSTRATED. 87 

That same day Gilbert Kilburn met and talked to her 
for a happy half-hour. At the end of it he had prom- 
ised himself that this girl, and this girl only, should be 
his wife, and had given her to know in the occult way 
lovers have, that though he asked none from her. he 
had made this solemn promise to both of them. 

It was not extraordinary, therefore, that Florence's 
mood should have been one of intense happiness that 
evening. Nor was it extraordinary either, that Kath- 
leen should attribute this happiness to the wrong source 
— the presence, namely, of Dr. Sheffield. 

‘‘No wonder Flo’ looks so wonderfully well satisfied 
with herself/’ the elder sister remarked to her mother 
and Doctor Sheffield, during one of Florences brief 
absences from the room on duty. “She had the Honor- 
able Gilbert Kilburn dancing attendance on her this 
morning for an hour. I wonder she can come down 
to our level to-night ; don’t you, Doctor Sheffield ? ” 

He felt infuriated with Florence for having by her 
conduct given rise to such a speech, and with Kathleen 
for having made it. In his fury, he was cruel to both 
sisters and their mother. 

“ Mr. Kilburn is a friend of mine,” he said stiffly. 
“Still, good fellow as he is, he has enough of his father 
in him to render him an injudicious companion for 
Florence. You understand me, Mrs. Maunders ? As 
to her deigning to come down to our level, Kathleen, I 
am s&tisfied that she is happier with me than with him. 
And if I am satisfied, you need not be jealous for me.” 

“Jealous — for — you ! ” 

She repeated the words after him disjointedly. Then 
as their full meaning burst upon her poor misguided 
little heart, she nerved herself to bear unflinchingly the 
sharpest pain a woman’s heart can feel. Do any of 
you know it, who read this ? The pain of seeing the 


88 


THE KI LB URNS. 


man you love prefer your sister, who rather dislikes 
him, to yourself. 

“I should be jealous for you indeed if Flo, could 
think of him before you/’ she said, without any appear- 
ance of effort. “As it is, as you say, all the Gilbert 
Kilburns in the world couldn’t be dangerous to her.” 

She had made her effort bravely. Doctor Sheffield 
respected her as he had never done, when, having 
said her say, she, struggling to smile and seem uncon- 
cerned, got herself out of the room on some trifling pre- 
text. 

When the door had closed behind Kathleen, Mrs. 
Maunders gave a long look — half of appeal, half of in- 
quiry — at the irreproachable disturber of their domestic 
peace. 

“ If it is, as Kathleen foolishly hinted, about her sis- 
ter and Mr. Kilburn, I can do nothing, Doctor Sheffield. 
I can’t interfere with Florence in this matter. Mr. Kil- 
burn is a better man than his — is a good man.” 

“You were going to say he is a better man than his 
father. You are right.” 

“Then I will not — and you shall not come between 
him and my child.” She tried to speak firmly, but her 
voice broke on the last word. 

“I have a document in my possession which proves 
that you are aware of a wrong which has been done to 
Mr. Kilburn by his father.” 

“ A wrong ! — a document ! ” 

She grew frightened, and stood up in her alarm, con- 
fronting him — not crouching away from him as a cow- 
ardly or guilty woman would have done. 

“The Honorable Gilbert Kilburn will never be Lord 
Rollamore, and you know it, Mrs. Maunders. I have 
it under your own hand in a letter written to your hus- 


GOOD INTENTIONS FRUSTRATED. 89 

band at the time of Lord Rollamore’s marriage — of his 
second marriage — that you know it. ” 

“Gilbert Kilburn is Lord Rollamore’s eldest living 
son,” she gasped out; “the other — the other died/’ 
“The other one lived — is living now, and Lord Rol- 
lamore knows it.” 

Doctor Sheffield put in calmly, — 

“ Don't agitate yourself, Mrs. Maunders. For Flor- 
ence’s sake, whatever your share in the business may 
be, I shall stand by you. ” 

“Stand by me — my share in the business,” she 
echoed aghast. “Oh, you know nothing — nothing , or 
you would never speak to me like that. ” 

Then Doctor Sheffield placed that little letter of hers to 
her husband, which he had found, before her. He kept 
a watchful eye upon it, prepared to intervene with a 
strong hand if she developed a destructive tendency 
towards it. To his chagrin, when she had read it, she 
only said, — • 

“That tells you very little of the old story, in which 
you rightly enough assume that I am interested. A 
little child was alive in those days, who must have died 
before Lord Rollamore let his son Gilbert appear be- 
fore the world as his eldest son and heir.” 

“You are ambitious for your daughter. You would 
like to see Florence Lady Rollamore,” he allowed him- 
self to sneer. 

“I hope the right man, whoever he is, will be Lord 
Rollamore, and I wish no better fate for my child than 
to see her the wife of such a man as Gilbert Kilburn.” 


9 o 


THE KI LB URNS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

GILBERT SPEAKS TOO SOON. 

Out of this conversation with Doctor Sheffield, there 
grew a curious feeling of strength in Mrs. Maunders’s 
hitherto slightly relaxed mind. ‘ ‘ Relaxed, ” be it under- 
stood, on the point of Lord Rollamore and his antece- 
dents only. She felt intuitively that Doctor Sheffield 
had been trying to frighten her into forwarding his 
views on her daughter Florence. With even stronger 
conviction, she felt now that he had not the power of 
punishing her, even should she refuse to be his ally. 
She had no feeling of anger against him for the attempt 
he had made to force her to range herself on his side. 
On the contrary, though she shuddered to think of what 
would have happened between Florence and herself 
had he really possessed the power he started by assum- 
ing, she rather liked him. “At any rate, he must value 
Florence highly, ” she argued; “he must really and 
truly love her, or he would not persevere, and plot, and 
plan, and even hint at the possibility of descending to 
the meanness of coercing her mother’s interest on his 
behalf. Oh, yes, there were excuses — many — to be 
made for him. ” So Mrs. Maunders argued on his behalf 
with her own taste and judgment, accepting the excuses 
finally, which she made for him herself. 

But there was another outcome of his visit to the 
Maunders s that evening, which Doctor Sheffield had 
neither desired nor foreseen. Kathleen spoke to her 
sister seriously on his behalf, and so ruined his case 
with the younger sister more completely, sooner and 


GILBERT SFEAKS TOO SOON. 


91 

more humiliatingly, than he would have ruined it him- 
self, had Kathleen left him to his own devices. 

It was all done by a few words ; a sentence or two 
from well-meaning Kathleen put the whole matter as 
hopelessly wrong, from her point of view, as if she had 
not been “ well-meaning. ’’ 

* ‘ J ust a few words, Flo ’, ” she murmured, as she kissed 
her sister good-night ; 4 ' don’t hurt and perhaps alienate 
him by seeming to listen to Mr. Kilburn's stupid non- 
sense.” 

“ Good-night, Kathleen darling, I'm so drowsy, but 
hear this and believe it : Fd listen to Mr. Kilburn all 
the days of my life if I might or could.” 

‘ ‘ And Doctor Sheffield ? 

“ Doesn't exist for me, dear, but will, I hope, for 
you, if you don’t go on being anxious to give away 
what you most want to keep.” 

Now, these words of Florences, though they gave 
Kathleen a momentary sensation of relief, galled and 
annoyed her when she came to think over them in those 
dismal watches of the night, which the majority of us 
are compelled to keep at not unfrequent periods of our 
lives. Kathleen would almost rather have seen Flor- 
ence ready to enter the lists against her for the prize of 
Doctor Sheffield's heart and hand than have heard her 
carelessly-indifferent disclaimer of any desire to possess 
them. The elder sister could not solace herself with 
the fancy that Florence had spoken in pique. What 
she had said she had meant thoroughly, and Kathleen's 
mortification was great as she realized this. 

But, in the morning, matters looked brighter. Nat- 
urally, as poor Flo' was so foolishly in love with a man 
above her in station, her judgment was out of order,, 
and her power of appreciation of other men in an un- 
reliable condition. After all, it was infinitely preferable 


92 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


to have her sister crossly ignorant of the superiority of 
Doctor Sheffields merits than to have her for a rival. 
Probably, too, she had been quite mistaken in thinking 
that he took any other interest in Flo' than a man would 
naturally take in the girl he hoped to have for a sister- 
in-law. On the whole, by the time Kathleen came 
down to breakfast, she was in a happy and hopeful 
frame of mind. Far happier, indeed, than Florence, 
for the latter was smarting under the knowledge that 
she must indeed have weakly betrayed her growing 
liking for Mr. Kilburn for Kathleen to have found it 
out. 

“ Til never stop to speak to him again. Fll just bow 
and pass on if I meet him,” she resolved. 

There was something that struck her as ridiculous in 
the idea of her having, even for a minute, allowed 
herself to fancy that he liked her. She was a girl who 
had never permitted herself to dream of the splendidly 
improbable in love or matrimony. Her life had been 
a happy but intensely commonplace one, too full of 
monotonous daily work for feeble romance to have any 
disturbing influence in it. That other people should 
have fallen into the absurd error of supposing that 
because Mr. Kilburn had been rather civil to her, she 
should have incontinently thrown her heart at his feet 
was insulting. So, with the determination strong upon 
her of guarding herself from further insults of the kind, 
she was about to give Mr. Kilburn a grave, almost a 
stern, bow when next she met him, when he razed her 
structure of good intentions to the ground in a moment 
by pausing and saying abruptly : — 

“ My father is much worse to-day, Miss Maunders. 
We are a sorrow-stricken family just now. I want to 
feel that, in the heavier sorrow that is coming upon us, 
I shall have your special sympathy.” 


GILBERT SPEAKS TOO SOON. 


93 


“ Indeed — indeed you will.” 

“ Thank you,” he said, gratefully ; “ I was sure of it, 
Florence, but I wanted to hear you say it — I was on 
my way now to your mother’s house. I may not be 
able to see you again for a short time ; I must be with 
my mother constantly. But I shall know that you un- 
derstand the cause of my absence, and that you are 
giving me the sympathy which only his future wife can 
give a man. 

“Mr. Kilburn, I don’t know how to tell you — what 
to say,” she pulled up in her speech suddenly, for Doc- 
tor Sheffield came riding leisurely towards them. 

“Say, yes — you are my future wife, and tell your 
mother, darling, but no one else. I had not meant to 
say so much while my father’s terrible illness is casting 
such clouds over us all. But I’m glad now that I have 
said it — even my mother will forgive what may seem 
like selfishness when she knows you and knows how 
happy you have made me.” 

“ I’m too happy to speak,” Florence murmured, and 
then she had to tone down her brilliant bliss, and make 
some sort of conventional response to Doctor Sheffield’s 
greeting. 

“ I could scarcely believe it could be you,” he said 
coldly, addressing Gilbert; “ Lord Rollamore has taken 
a turn for the worse since you left Parkventon. I am 
going to wire to town for two of the best men in such 
cases that we have, but I’m afraid there’s no hope.” 

“ Oh ! go — go at once ! ” Florence cried to her lover, 
and something in the^ unrestrained familiarity of her 
manner jarred on the doctor’s jealous mind, and goaded 
him into saying, as Gilbert rode off : — 

“ I am glad that you had the tact to send him off to 
the post he should never have deserted, Florence. I 
wish your good taste had intervened to prevent his 


94 


THE K I. LB URNS. 


offering the spectacle to the casual rural observer of 
himself, as a dismounted cavalier, philandering with a 
young lady who is unknown to his family, while his 
father is on his death-bed.” 

“ Don’t say such cruel things, Doctor Sheffield,” she 
flamed out spiritedly ; “ ‘ philandering' is a word you 
will feel sorry you have used to me when you know—” 
she checked herself, remembering that Gilbert had said 
she was not to tell any one besides her mother, yet. 

“When I know that you have entrapped the future 
Lord Rollamore, I suppose you would say ? Ah ! Flor- 
ence, you have preferred him to me, but he will break 
his imaginary bonds to you when his father dies, take 
my word for it. Hear me even now. I have proved 
my fidelity, give me the right to protect you from the 
sneers that will be levelled at you when your fine titled 
lover deserts you.” 

“ I will never tell any one what a coward you have 
been,” she said coldly. 

Then she turned and walked steadily home, leaving 
the mission which she had been on her way to fulfil 
at Wrey mouth unfulfilled. As for Doctor Sheffield, the 
only grain of comfort he got out of his rather dramatic 
interview with her was found in her scornful promise 
“not to tell any one what a coward he had been.” 

Meantime, Gilbert reached home to find his father 
even worse than he had feared. Still the poor, uncon- 
scious old man lingered on, day after day, still the same 
agonizing monotony of hopelessness prevailed, and still 
that terrible secret which had prostrated Lord Rolla- 
more remained unrevealed. 

When Florence first communicated the great news 
of the gloriously happy future that had that day opened 
out before her to her mother, the latter seemed almost 
stunned. 


GILBERT SPEAKS TOO SOOAT. 


95 


“ Aren't you glad, mother? Aren't you happy and 
proud for me? ” the girl asked, in her impatient greed 
for sympathy in this hour of the crowning glory of her 
girlhood. 

“ He is a good man, and oh, my child, that's every- 
thing when a girl has given her heart to him ; but I'm 
frightened, Flo, I'm frightened." 

“ What nonsense ! What at, mother? Do you think 
that I shall make but a poor Lady Rollamore ! Don't 
be afraid. I can soar to any height and take my place 
easily if Gilbert approves of me." 

Then Mrs. Maunders struggled to shake off the dazed 
feeling that was overpowering her, and poured forth 
a rather incoherent torrent of congratulatory and affec- 
tionate words. 

“How surprised and proud Kathleen will be," she 
said presently. 

“Kathleen mustn’t know it yet. Gilbert expressly 
said no one but you must know about it yet, on account 
of his father's illness." 

“Oh, these secrets, these secrets," Mrs. Maunders 
muttered miserably to herself. 

Then she tried to reassure herself by remembering 
that the son was a better man than the father had been, 
and that Florence had more stamina and self-respect 
than had been the portion of a girl who had once suf- 
fered a good deal through that father. Nevertheless, 
though she had emerged from her slough of despond, 
and said all the fond things a loving mother does say 
when her daughter is just happily engaged, Florence 
felt that there was something wanting, and so was not 
quite as exuberantly blissful on this, the first day of her 
engagement, as she would otherwise have been. How- 
ever, she was quite as happy as the average mortal 
may expect to be. Will she sink in your estimation 


THE KI LB URNS. 


96 

when it is told that she found much felicity in writing 
the words “ Florence Rollamore’ ; several times that 
day ? 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN ARTIST’S CHOICE. 

Mrs. Torrens was enjoying her aftermath to the utter 
most limit of her capacity for enjoyment. She had 
plenty of obsequious friends about her enormous wealth. 
A young man whom she adored, who, “for consider- 
ations,” posed as her lover, and an inexhaustible stock 
of the rudest health. Nerves she had none. Sensitive- 
ness she had none. Her supply of delicacy of feeling 
must have run out in her infancy. Her selfishness was 
of that coarse calibre, that it rendered her impervious 
to the suffering of every other created thing, save her- 
self and Mr. White. Who can say that at this juncture 
she was not a perfectly happy woman, with health and 
wealth, and White, and fawning friends, each and all 
absolutely at her command ? 

Lovers of justice, and all such as like, to see the law 
of compensation in good working order, will be grati- 
fied to learn that this woman had, at least, a couple of 
crumples in her rose-leaf. The roughest of the two was 
the fact that absolute contentment, combined with high 
living, had made her so unmanageably fat, that, in her 
richest attire, she had the appearance of a feather-bed 
which had been thrust into silken and satin coverings 
for some occult reason. The second drawback to her 
felicity was that her artist-betrothed had developed a 
commendable love of art recently, and would work in- 
cessantly at his studio in the Avenue Road. When she 


AN ARTIST'S CHOICE . 


97 . 

pressed the claims of the beautifully-appointed room 
which she had ordered to be arranged as his studio in 
her own house upon him, he would look at her tenderly, 
and enlarge upon the superiority of the light in the 
Avenue Road, and upon his burning desire to make a 
name which should “ glorify her, his goddess.” Now, 
this was pretty, and ought to have been soothing to a 
middle-aged, fat woman, but, somehow or other, Mrs. 
Torrens was not soothed. She loved and trusted her 
White, but she liked to love and trust him well under 
her own eyes. She offered him herself, her plainest 
house-maids, her coachman, and her pug as models, if 
he must paint “ from the life,” and he refused all th'ese 
good gifts at her hand with a sweet earnestness and 
decision that strained her love and trust. 

She could not confide the tale of her disappointment 
and pained chagrin at this contumacy of his to any one, 
for fear of creating more mirth than sympathy. So 
she nursed it in the secrecy of her own heart until it 
assumed unbearable proportions. 

Her ideas of artists’ models were vague, but alarming. 
Some of them were old, ugly, and picturesque, he had 
told her. But others, he had once unwarily let fall, 
were well-formed, well-looking young women. Per- 
haps it was the charms of one of these latter snares 
that he was portraying in that good light which he had 
offered her as an excuse for his continual and prolonged 
absences in the Avenue Road ! The desire “to know 
the worst” claimed her for its own, and made a slave 
of her. Without saying a word to May, who would 
have quitted her . stronghold of armed neutrality and 
non-intervention for once had she known of her 
mothers intention, the poor rich lady set off to put the 
falsehood or faith of her Imight to the test. 

She had no difficulty in finding his studio, for though 

7 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


. 98 

he had on one pretence or another contrived to evade 
givingher its number or precise locality, she had helped 
herself to it without his aid by means of rifling his 
pockets and mastering their carelessly-guarded contents. 
For desperate, uncompromising meanness, and con- 
temptible curiosity which will stoop to any depth to 
gratify itself, there are but few human beings, happily, 
who can successfully combat with a voraciously vain, 
bloatedly wealthy, ignorant, underbred, elderly woman 
who wishes to obtain complete mastery over those 
whose lot is cast within her borders. She will stick at 
nothing. The fear and shame of being “found out ” 
does not deter her. For if some one of her many, much- 
trodden upon worms turns, and leaves her, a score 
more are ready to crawl in and fill the vacant place, 
and strive to wriggle themselves into her favor and 
her will. 

A smart page opened the door to her, and, with a 
grin of unbounded amusement and delight on his face, 
conducted her at once to the studio. Pushing back a 
heavy portiere , and opening the door simultaneously 
with the words, “ A lady to see you, sir,” the astonished 
woman found herself in that apartment sacred to pure 
art, in which the man for whom she was about to pay 
four hundred thousand pounds, and cheat her child, 
painted from the life. 

At first she saw nothing but a group near the vacant 
dais, composed of Mr. White, in his purple velvet coat 
(Mrs. Torrens had given it to him), lounging on some 
cushions at the feet of a beautiful, bold-faced girl, who 
in turn was lounging in the luxurious depths of a softly- 
cushioned chair. The girl, who had been sitting for 
“ Elaine” a few minutes before, had a little exquisitely 
textured, semi-transparent material thrown round her 
perfectly modelled bust and arms, while a showy mass 


AN ARTIST'S CHOICE . 


99 


of silken drapery fell from her waist to her feet. They 
were both smoking cigarettes, they were both roaring 
with laughter, and, to do them justice, they were both 
perfectly at their ease when Mrs. Torrens rolled in 
upon them. 

Airily replacing her cigarette between her lips, the 
beautiful model, who was better really than the present 
appearances betokened, continued immovable in her 
chair, while Mrs. Torrens poured forth a stream of un- 
grammatical invective and reproach, and Mr. White, 
who had gracefully risen to his feet, posed effectively in 
silence. When Mrs. Torrens had exhausted herself, and 
sat down to cry, the artful aesthete whispered a few 
words to the girl, which had the effect of making her 
spring up, retire behind the screen, and presently em- 
erge perfectly and modestly arrayed in her gray dress, 
mantle, and hat. 

“Thank you very much for your introductions to 
those other artists, sir,” she said, very prettily. “ Your 
having let me sit for ‘ Elaine ’ in your great picture has 
done me more service than I can ever properly thank 
you for.” Then she departed, dropping a dainty, dep- 
recating little curtsey as she passed the outraged Mrs. 
Torrens, and left the wily White to make his peace with 
his widow. 

The magic words which had wrought the wonderful 
transformation in Miss Valerie Heath’s demeanor were 
simply, “ Go quietly and cleverly, there's a dear girl. 
This is the aunt who's so enormously rich, and whose 
heir I am. You understand ? ” 

Miss Valerie Heath understood — and went. 

“And now , if you please, tell me what this all means? 
I came here to give you a pleasant surprise.” 

“You have given me a very pleasant one,” White 
murmured gently, almost “fondly” she thought. 


IOO 


THE KI LB URNS. 


“ And I find you —you, almost a married man, wallow- 
mg, yes, wallowing at the impudent feet of an audacious 
girl, who sat there glorying in her smoke and her 
nakedness. Tell me what it means, Mr. White, or I 
shall be off with the marriage and leave you to starve 
on your beggarly few hundreds a year, for never another 
farthing of mine shall you see unless you tell me what 
it means ! ” 

Again her breathlessness stopped her, and gave him 
his opportunity. 

“ It means, dear lady, that I am an artist/' 

“An ‘ artist,' an ‘'umbug.'" 

“One of those intense souls who must live for the 
moment in the scene he is striving to depict.. That girl 
you saw just now has the beauty — exactly the beauty 
that is wanted for my Elaine, but she has no soul. I 
have to inspire her, or she would fall short of my beauti- 
ful ideal, and rob me of the glory which I only desire 
in order that I may lay it at your feet." 

“Oh, gammon ! " Mrs. Torrens interrupted, tossing 
her head, but she was partially pacified, and he saw it. 
Before he could pursue his advantage, his liege lady 
had a brief relapse, however. “That’s the way you 
‘ inspire ' your models, is it, with cigarettes and cham- 
pagne " (glancing at some tell-tale goblets, and an 
empty bottle of the best brand), “ and wallowings at 
their feet? Em not easily deceived, Mr. White, as you 
will find if you don’t make an end of this nonsense. : 
No more studios in St. John’s Wood for you if you want 
me and my money. A prince of painters might be satis- J 
fied with the one you have in my house. There, I sup-- 
pose I must let you " (he was trying to kiss her fat hot 
hand) ; “ I'm only a weak woman." 

“But my guiding star, my goddess," he muttered 
fervently, for the thought of the four hundred thousand 


AN ARTIST'S CHOICE. 


IOI 


pounds that was at stake sustained him in his efforts. 
At last he got her out of the studio and away without 
her making the discovery that the only results of his 
long hours of labor in the studio, with the exception of 
the study for Elaine, were caricatures of herself. 

She took him home with her in triumph that day, and 
revolted poor May’s taste more cruelly by playing off 
little endearments upon him that made the poor girl’s 
cheeks burn with shame at being compelled to witness 
them. The sight of her mother’s fashionably-arranged 
dyed head reposing languishingly on the shoulder of a 
man who was young enough to be her son was sending 
May out of the room in an uncontrollable passion, when 
a call from Mrs. Torrens arrested her in her flight. 

Come here, May,” she drawled out affectedly. 
“Come and look at this little sketch which my Francis 
has made of me.” 

May went back unwillingly, avoiding meeting White’s 
deprecating, admiring, furtive glances, but as soon as 
she saw the sketch, she flashed a look of unmistakable 
scorn and defiance at him. 

“ He is laughing at you, mamma. Mother , how can 
you be so blind ? This is the picture of a beautiful 
woman, still young. 

Mrs. Torrens flushed angrily, but controlled herself 
sufficiently to simper out, with a look that was partly 
searching, partly merely leering, at White, — 

“ My Francis draws me as he sees me.” 

“ Then his sight plays him false, mamma,” May said 
coldly, and White had the grace to feel sufficiently 
ashamed of himself to wriggle his supporting shoulder 
away from the fashionably-dyed head. 


Two or three days after, Valerie Heath, the model, 


102 


THE KI LB URNS. 


while waiting in the studio of one of her patrons, who 
was not quite ready for her, picked up a Morning Post , 
and began to while away the time by reading the little 
paragraphs wherein the most unimportant movements 
of the great are set forth for the edification and learning 
of the public, to whom they are but names. 

She was sitting for the figure of a sister of the Red 
Cross in a great military picture, and was looking un- 
commonly calm and nobly self-sustained, as well as 
singularly handsome, when her eyes lighted on the fol- 
lowing paragraph, and forthwith her calm fled, and an 
expression that permeated her whole face and form — • 
an expression of indignant dismay — reigned in its stead. 

“We understand,” the paragraph ran, “that Mr. 
Francis White, the distinguished and popular painter 
and poet, will shortly lead to the hymeneal altar the 
relict of the late Thomas Torrens, Esq., & lady no less 
celebrated for her boundless wealth than for boundless 
hospitality. The event is creating a great stir in artistic 
and fashionable circles. ” 

“Is it ? ” the girl muttered, as she moistened her dry 
lips from a little flask of rose-water and flung down the 
paper. “What did he mean by his promises to me 
that I ‘should share his aunts wealth' if he was going 
to take another wife? Did he think — ” a fiery blush 
covered her face as she resolutely checked the thought 
even that was so humiliating to her own pride and 
honor. But though she posed as well as ever, she was 
not a good model that day. Her expression and com- 
plexion varied so constantly that her patron lost pa- 
tience with her, and dismissed her before her time was 
up, in a displeased way, that boded ill for her chances 
of being employed by him again. A suddenly aroused 
fear that her weak indulgence in natural feeling might 
injure her professionally, acted as a tonic, and made 


“A GIRL NEVER CAN BE QUITE SURE.” 103 

her gather her energies together again, for indulgence 
in natural feeling is not a profitable luxury in the case 
of a girl model, who not only desires to live honestly, 
but to maintain and educate a little brother who had no 
one to take care of him but herself. 

She remembered this hard truth when she saw Mr. 
White the next time, so she bit back the scorching 
words that were rising to her lips when he said, — 

“ I see you have heard I am to be married to that old 
woman ? But, Valerie, you know — ” 

“I know r no more about you now, sir, and I never 
want to know any more, than I did when I believed 
you when you told me I should share the wealth you 
expected to have soon.” 

“You shall still do -that, Valerie — ” he was beginning 
eagerly, when she stopped him with a curious laugh. 

“Because I am only a model, you think I know 
nothing of the laws of the land, Mr. White. But I know 
this — a man can't have two wives at the same time, 
and you ve chosen the relict of the late Thomas Torrens 
to be yours ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ A GIRL NEVER CAN BE QUITE SURE.” 

The “great trouble” at Parkventon was not kept in 
sole possession of the family for long. While the man 
who was already dead to this world for all practical 
purposes still breathed, a bomb-shell was let fall in their 
midst, which shattered them throughout their whole 
system. 

Lady Rollamore's trustee under the will of her late 
father, a man who had been that father's trusted friend, 


104 


THE KI LB URNS. 


turned out a fraudulent defaulter, and, after leaving 
an abject confession to the effect that he had risked 
and lost the whole of Lady Rollamore’s fortune, blew 
his brains out by way of making her and her children 
amends. 

“ Never mind, mother ! ” Gilbert was the first to re- 
cover speech after the shock had fallen upon them. “I 
shall have enough for us all. We sha’n’t be the ‘rich 
Kilburns ' any longer, but we’ll hang together and rub 
through all right — never fear.” 

“ It’s easy for Gilbert to say that ; he’ll have the title 
and all poor papas property, but we shall be paupers,” 
one sister sobbed into the sympathetic ear of the other. 
Their cups of misery-were filled to overflowing, poor 
things ! The father whom they -had loved dearly was 
already dead to them, and the lavish means which 
had been theirs, and which would have procured them 
much practical amelioration of their woe, was suddenly 
wrenched from them. No wonder that their brothers 
magnanimous words sounded poor and tame in their 
ears. It was “easy enough for Gilbert” — for Gilbert, 
who would soon be Lord Rollamore, with two or three 
splendid estates and a large rent-roll — but for them ! 
“ We shall even have to ask him for our trousseaux , if 
we are ever lucky enough to marry,” they murmured 
disconsolately. As for Lady Rollamore, the words 
“ poverty ” and “ want of an adequate income” con- 
veyed no meaning whatever to her mind. It was ter- 
rible to hear that all her money was gone, but she had 
yet to realize what want of money, of even a very 
small sum of it, meant. Indeed, .when she was told 
that a poor little hundred and fifty a year which had 
been bequeathed to her by an old uncle was still left to 
her, she threw aside all monetary cares at once, and 
surrendered herself entirely to that more engrossing 


“A GIRL NEVER CAN BE QUITE SURE 


105 - 

misery of watching for a change, that never came, in 
the form of her unconscious husband. 

“ He has been such a father, and such a husband, 
she would say weepingly to the few friends who were 
allowed to see her at this juncture ; “ his one thought 
has been the welfare of his children — especially of Gil- 
bert. For Gilbert he seemed to feel he could never do 
enough.” 

Though Gilbert never left his mothers side in these 
days, he did not leave Florence’s heart to ache in un- 
certainty. He wrote to her, wrote such letters as an 
honorable gentleman should write to the woman he has 
chosen to be his wife and helpmeet. There was a 
strong undercurrent of trust and affection running 
through the sentences, in which he told her of their 
painful reverse of fortune. But there was no senti- 
ment, only a sure reliance that she was so entirely in 
accord with him, that she would help him to do every- 
thing that was kindest and most generous for his 
mother and sisters. 

Florence, in her pride that it was so, fell on her 
knees and thanked God in a rapture of mingled hu- 
mility and exultation for having given her the love of 
such a man, adding the vow to her thanksgiving that 
nothing should ever part her from him, and that for 
ever she would banish the false pride which had made 
her regret that he was above her in rank. So, at least, 
the love affair between these young people promised 
well. 

Meantime, a change had come over Doctor Sheffield. 
Finding that Florence could be as resolved as he was 
himself, and being quite alive to the advantages a mar- 
ried medical man has over an unmarried one in the 
country, he leisurely turned his attention towards 
Kathleen, who kindly attributed his tardiness to timid- 


io 6 THE KI LB URNS. 

ity. Indeed, it is upon record that she definitely 
accepted his offer before he made it. But this may be 
mere Caddleton spite, for it is certain that he would 
never have let loose an impression so derogatory to the 
dignity of the lady he had, after so much hesitation, 

‘ 4 deigned ”■ — for the word “delighted” barely fits his 
case — to honor. However, whatever he may have felt 
when he had once surrendered unconditionally to the 
girl who had been his hopeless worshipper for so many 
years, it is certain that Kathleen herself conceived her 
fate to be as joyful a one as the most exacting girl 
could desire. 

She was sometimes a little exasperating in her hap- 
piness even to her mother, who often found herself 
turning with satisfaction to contemplate the more dig- 
nified way in which her other daughter played her far 
more difficult part From the moment that he gave 
her permission to do it — for that really is the most cor- 
rect way of describing the manner in which he ac- 
quiesced in his engagement — Kathleen caused her 
whole conversation to curvet round his Christian name, 
and projected her mind entirely into his existence, to 
the exclusion of other people. The light labors which 
she had hitherto fulfilled easily enough became -irk- 
some to her, consequently she executed them badly. 
Then complaints arose, and, in defending herself 
against these, she implicated him by almost avowing 
that he was the cause of her negligence. When he 
came to know this, it annoyed him, and, in order to 
avert his annoyance, Kathleen became more slavishly 
abject in her adoration than before. 

There was something pitiful in the position of this 
pair towards each other, Mrs. Maunders felt, and 
though she did not like Doctor Sheffield, her sympa- 
thies were not altogether with her own child. That 


“A GIRL NEVER CAN BE QUITE SURE.” 


107 


the man had only taken the latter because he had 
failed in getting another girl whom he wanted was a 
deplorable fact. But then Kathleen did not know this. 
Therefore, the excuse of being desirous of making 
good her position by ultra attention to him was not 
hers. Hers indeed was only the desire of the moth 
for the star. So long as the star shone above her, 
however ungraciously, she would flutter her feeble 
wings towards it, bringing them . recklessly against 
whatever obstacles impeded their course. Uncon- 
scious, or blindly forgetful of the fact that if they were 
bruised in the days of courtship by the treatment, they 
would be utterly destroyed by it when once the utter- 
ance of the marriage vow had fettered th^ir flight for- 
ever. 

Unconscious, or blindly forgetful, or whatever it 
might be that Kathleen was about the sure results of her 
present idolatry, one thing was certain, she was never 
reasonably contented or decently agreeable out of the 
presence of her idol. She showered invitations upon 
him to come to her mother’s house in season and out 
of season with a calm, unruffled air of being his one 
object in life that nearly distracted him at times. 

“ If you can’t come to lunch to-day, you’ll come to 
supper of course, dear Ned ? ” she would say, with the 
happy smile of conviction of one who is assured that 
she is proposing the most pleasant path to thebeloved. 
When he would try to crawl out of or writhe himself free 
of the supper, as he had of the luncheon, she would 
felicitously find another opportunity for him. 

“ If you like, I’ll walk on the Wreymouth road to 
meet you as you come back in the afternoon ; you’ll 
have the dog-cart, won’t you, to-day ? and I do so love 
driving, and as you can’t come to supper to-night, 
come to supper to-morrow, and I’ll take care there’s 


io8 


THE HI LB UR NS. 


something you like. I’m getting to know your tastes, 
you see, dear — a kippered haddock and some tomatoes. 
Now, you’ll come, won’t you, Ned? ” 

Doctor Sheffield breathed a brief but fervent prayer to 
the effect that he hoped never to see tomatoes or kip- 
pers again. 

As a love-sick, often hopeless and despairing girl, 
Kathleen had been pathetic. As a right openly and 
scarcely engaged one, she was wearingly on the alert, 
in his or her own interests, in a way that sometimes 
made him feel ashamed of her. His punishment for 
not being absolutely sincere regarding her was com- 
mencing already in fact Had he really loved her, and 
looked forward to a life spent with her with unmitigated 
bliss, he would have endeavored to save her from mak- 
ing herself ridiculous. As it was, when he heard her 
half-pleading, half-authoritatively demanding some pefty 
alteration in the trivial domestic round on his account, 
he looked and felt sheepish, but refrained from interfer- 
ing. 

‘ ‘ Why demand so much of Doctor Sheffield’s time and 
attention, Kathleen ? ” the mother would ask some- 
times, when Kathleen had been resentfully denquncing 
those professional claims which had taken him away 
from the peaceful prospect of an evening spent in look- 
ing at her. 

“Its natural I should wish to see him, mother.” 

“Quite natural, dear, but you’ve seen him twice to- 
day already. ” * 

“What’s that , when one has so much to say?” 
Kathleen asked, scornfully compassionate of their 
mediocre experience of her state of mind. 

“You don’t seem to have much to say when he is 
here,” Florence remarked bluntly. “You are so taken 
up with gazing at him, and calling him ‘Ned,’ and 


“A GIRL NEVER CAN BE QUITE SUREN 


109 

‘ Dear Ned,’ and ‘ Ned Dear/ that you forget to work, 
or read, or sing, or speak to any one else when he’s 
present. I call it silly. ” 

“You may call it what you like, Flo’. You don't 
know what it is. You’re not engaged." 

The future Lady Rollamore bore even this aspersion 
upon her attractiveness good-naturedly. 

“ If I were, I don’t think I should want to be always 
gaping at the man I was engaged to, and I won’t 
wear his Christian name out by such constant repeti- 
tion as you do, Kathleen. But now, be a dear ! and 
as he isn’t here this evening to absorb all your facul- 
ties, help me to plan out this striped cambric for a 
blouse." 

“ Ned doesn’t like blouses. He says it gives girls 
such a good chance of pinching their waists. You can 
draw the belt in to any extent, you see." 

“I shall not draw my belt in to any pernicious ex- 
tent, and Doctor Sheffield may dismiss all anxiety con- 
cerning my waist from his mind. Now, will you help 
me ? " 

“ Yes, when I’ve finished this wash-stand back for 
Ned’s room." 

“ What on earth can a man wantoi a silk-embroidered 
washstand ? " Florence asked impatiently. “ If you 
‘ furnish up ’ to that, I shall be afraid to come into 
your house when my boots are muddy or dirty, and as 
it’s always muddy or dirty in Caddleton, see what a 
pleasure you’ll deprive me off." 

“ It’s not kind to indulge in prophetic sneers about 
my house and furniture," Kathleen said, haughtily. “I 
shall have the best Ned can give me. We want to go 
to Parkhouse’s together, mother, and get everything 
straight off at once. " 

“ What an interesting way of furnishing," Florence 


I IO 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


laughed. “ Don't be angry, Kathleen, but it does sound 
to me such a deadly, wholesale way of going to work. 

• So many of this,' and 4 so many of that.' You'll have 
no time for the display of individual taste." 

ts There’s no need for me to display it. Dear Ned’s 
taste is perfect.’’ 

“ He displayed it, at any rate, when he chose you, 
you dear affectionate goose," Florence said, tenderly. 
And then, in a gush of emotional confidence, Kathleen 
confessed how worse than idiotic she had been in 
even thinking that her own dear Ned had cared for 
Florence, or anybody else. “ But a girl never can be 
quite sure till a man speaks. Can she, Flo ? " 

Florence quite agreed with her. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE NEW LORD ROLLAMORE. 

It was all over ! Lord Rollamore, the fourteenth 
baron of that ilk, had passed away in the night, and 
every one but his wife and children declared it to be a 
“ very good thing that he had made way for a better 
man than himself." 

For Gilbert’s popularity was universal. There was 
no one found to say any but good words of him. 
Though he had improved the condition of the laborer 
on his father’s estates, he had not won the ill-will of the 
tenants in doing it. All men, in fact, gave Gilbert Kil- 
burn a “ fair wind" to the title and estates. 

He did not think it indecorous to go and see the girl 
he loved even before the funeral. He was called “Mr. 
Kilburn " still in the nature of things until after that 


THE NEW LORD ROLL A MORE . 


1 1 1 


event, but he was “ Lord Rollamore ” for all that, ana 
it was as “ Lord Rollamore ” that he desired to reas- 
sure Florence, and show her that he at least did not 
deem that, in mating with him, she would take upon 
herself the burden of an honor unto which she was not 
born. 

So he went over to Caddleton in his mothers little 
brougham, which waited outside “ Maunders ’s ” for an 
hour. No one suspected that the lord of the land was 
there consulting the future lady of it. People thought 
that Maunders’s was a convenient place for him to de- 
spatch and receive telegrams in. So Florence’s true, 
sweet story remained unrevealed to her townsfolk. But 
all her family were made duly cognizant of it. 

“ There must be no concealment now between us 
and our people on either side,” he told Florence. 4 ‘My 
mother knows it already, and Fergus will be told to- 
night. It is only right that Kathleen and Sheffield 
should hear of it at once from us.” 

How she idolized him for the considerate generosity 
which made him identify himself with her relations in 
this unhesitating, frank manner ! How fervently again 
she registered the vow that “nothing — nothing — 
nothing ” should ever part her from him ! 

When he left her, it was with the understanding that 
he would not see her again until after his father’s 
funeral. 

“ Then I shall come and take you to my mother,” he 
said. 

“ Won't she think me rather brutal to take my happi- 
ness into the midst of her sorrow, Gilbert ? ” 

“ No, indeed, for I make your happiness, and she’s 
my mother. You needn’t be afraid of her, Flo.” 

“ I’ll never be afraid of anything again,” she said. 

A secret anxiety that was terrible in its intensity, and 


1 1 2 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


pitiful in its helplessness, was wasting* Mrs. Maunders 's 
vitality during these days. But we have nothing what- 
ever to do with this, for though it concerned the people 
the story of whose lives is being told, it had no influ- 
ence upon them, and did not alter or forward the events 
which are to follow in any way. 

At length the day of the funeral came. Gilbert Kil- 
burn followed. his father to the grave, and came back to 
Parventon “ Lord Rollamore. ” Then the family assem- 
bled in the library, and Mr. Wyndham proceeded to 
read the will. 

What had come over the usually composed old law- 
yer? His voice broke, and, after punctuating the open- 
ing sentence with sobs, he came to a dead pause. 
There was a grievous silence in the room for a minute 
or two; then Gilbert spoke, — 

“ Tm afraid there is something painful that you have 
to read to us ? Let me take my mother away, and 
then, I think, you’ll find that we Kilburns are stout- 
hearted enough to bear anything with tolerable cheer- 
fulness. ” 

“ Not this, not this, my dear boy, my poor boy ! ” 
Mr. Wyndham faltered out, while Lady Rollamore said 
decisively, — 

“ I will not go away, Gilbert. Your dear father may 
not have left the wealth that he desired for you, but — 
there can be nothing else.” 

“ At any rate, read on,” the new Lord Rollamore said 
quietly. Then Mr. Wyndham read on. 

Deprived of all legal frills of phraseology, the will of 
the late Lord Rollamore might have been put in a nut- 
shell. The title and the whole of the property went by 
law and nature to his eldest son, “ Francis White Kil- 
burn,” hitherto known as “ Francis White.” To his 
younger children, Gilbert, Fergus, and the two daugh- 


THE NEW LORD ROLLAMORE. 


”3 


ters, he left his blessing, and a prayer for their forgive- 
ness for the deception he had practiced upon them and 
their mother all their lives. 

Lady Rollamore heard the truth to the bitter end. For 
a moment or two her mind went wildly groping about 
for evidence to refute this awful statement. But the 
darkness was too great, too horrible. With a moan that 
it wrung her children’s heart to hear, she fell back in her 
chair faint with a faintness that was so much like death 
that all the energies of her children were bent upon the 
task of calling her back from the grim gates instead of 
expending them in fruitless lamentation. But when his 
mother had been taken to her own room, Gilbert re- 
membered that the same blow which had felled his 
mother had maimed him for life. 

“ You knew of this ? ” he said to Mr. Wyndham : 
“ you were not surprised ? I saw that, and I remem- 
bered that you had always seemed as fond of me as my 
own father was. Why did you do it ? ” 

The old lawyer put his hand on Gilbert’s arm. 

“ I couldn’t help it, my boy. He bound me silent. 
He couldn’t bear the thought of your mother’s disap- 
pointment after he had once let her believe you were 
the heir. And I — what could I do, Gilbert ? His love 
for your mother and you made him weak, and even in 
his weakness I loved your father too well to betray the 
secret that poisoned his existence.” 

“ Who was my bro — Who w r as Lord Rollamore’s 
mother ? ” Gilbert asked miserably. It was all so crush- 
ingly wretched, still the poor young fellow would force 
himself to say something that might help to lift Mr. 
Wyndham out of that morass of self-reproach in which 
he was floundering. 

“ She was a Miss White.” 

“ She died, I suppose, when this boy was born ? ” 

8 


THE K I LB UR NS. 


114 

“ No, she did not die,” Mr. Wyndham said, uneasily ; 
“ she — she — did not die.” 

“ Good heavens, you don't mean that she was alive 
when he married my mother ? ” Gilbert gasped. 

“Alive! but divorced. Oh, yes, its a miserable 
story, Gilbert. If she had not been a guilty woman, 
none of these complications would have arisen.” 

“In other words, we wretched younger Kilburns 
wouldn’t have been born,” Gilbert said, grimly. “ Tell 
me all now ! Where is the new Lord Rollamore to be 
found? You know, I suppose?” 

Mr. Wyndham inclined his head in assent. 

“Is he worthy of being my father’s son and heir ? 
It’s not the way I ought to word the question, but you 
must know what I feel about it. Has he been left to 
the influence of his*mother, or — ” 

“ No, poor fellow,” Mr. Wyndham interrupted ; “he 
had better have been the orphan he believes himself to 
be, than have been cursed with a father who was 
ashamed of him, and a mother of whom he has reason 
to be ashamed. You know him, Gilbert, as Francis 
White, the artist.” 

“ That aesthetic fraud my father’s son ? ” 

“ There is no doubt about it. It has been my duty 
to follow his career closely. Your father never saw 
him, voluntarily, from the day he married your mother, 
nor did he ever trouble himself to make any inquiry 
respecting his eldest son. The shock of hearing from 
me that Gilbert White, the artist, whom he despised, 
was his own son, and was a guest in his own house, 
was too much for your father. It brought on that at- 
tack from which he never recovered.” 

“ This was the secret he promised to tell us the day 
following my announcement of my engagement ; poor 
father, how he must have suffered,” Fergus said piti- 


THE NEW LORD ROLLAMORE. 


1 1 5 

fully. He was not wronged to the same extent as his 
brother Gilbert, and could therefore face the facts and 
the future with greater equanimity than was Gilbert's 
portion at present. 

“ And now, in further fulfilment of your duty, you'll 
inform Lord Rollamore of the change in his position, 
Wyndham ? " 

“ I must do that at once." 

“We — my mother and all of us will turn out without 
delay," Gilbert said, stoutly.* “ I must try to get some 
employment by which I can maintain my sisters and 
myself, for we are practically penniless. Fortunately 
— happily I am not married." 

“But you're engaged, Gilbert? Mamma told us 
of your engagement to that pretty Miss Maunders, the 
old doctor's daughter," one of his sisters put in. 

“I must ask Florence to release me," Gilbert said 
bitterly; “poor girl, I won't drag her down to the 
miserable level to which my father's culpable deception 
has consigned me." 

“ Don't be harsh to his memory, old chap ; it’s rough 
on you, I know, and I wish with all my heart that the 
heaviest blow had fallen on my shoulders instead of on 
yours. " 

Fergus spoke with the cheerful resignation of one 
who is quite as well off as he had anticipated being. 
His disappointment had been the loss of his mother’s 
money, and that he had lived through and lived down. 
From his father he had never expected anything, and 
he had not narrowly escaped being Lord Rollamore. 
Consequently, he bore his brother's grievance uncom- 
plainingly. 

“ It's awful to think that Gilbert will be nobody, and 
that odious Mr. White, who is going to marry that old 
woman for her money, will be Lord Rollamore," one 
of the sisters sobbed. 


u6 


THE KILBURHS, 


“To leave Parkventon after it's been made so lovely, 
and we've been here such a little time, it seems now/ 
wailed the other. 

“ I do hope mamma will go abroad. We might live 
quite cheaply in Germany, couldn’t we, Gilbert ? ” 

“ I’m afraid you will have to put up with a London 
suburb,” Gilbert answered sorrowfully. “My dear 
sisters, don’t harass me about the future yet. I will 
do the best I can for our mother and you, but that 
‘best’ will seem very bad*to you, I fear.” 

“ Your father has left a written request in my hands 
to your brother, Lord Rollamore, asking him to allow 
your mother an income out of the estate adequate to 
her position, Mr. Wyndham said, tentatively. 

“ Which my mother will never touch,” said Gilbert 
firmly. “We will owe nothing to Lord Rollamore’s 
generosity. ” 

“You must not deprive Lady Rollamore of what is 
her right, Gilbert.” 

“Ah, Wyndham it seems to me that my mother and 
her children have no rights,” Gilbert said, bitterly, and 
then they looked through the will again and found no 
comfort therein. 

The announcement of the astonishing truth came 
upon the household first, and Caddfeton and the neigh- 
borhood directly afterwards, with crushing force. 
Doctor Sheffield heard it while on his afternoon round, 
and, though it was not such a surprise to him as it was 
to the majority, he was desperately staggered and 
pained by it. 

“ The letter that I found in one of old Doctor Maun- 
ders’s books must be shown to Gilbert Kilburn now, or 
a complication too hideous for contemplation will 
arise,” he told himself. But how to show that letter, 
how to introduce the painful subject without seeming 
intrusive and malicious ? 


A PAGE FROM TPTE PAST. 


XI7 

“She will be my mother-in-law ; he can’t think that 
I would let her down if I could see my way to avoid 
doing so,” he said to himself, as with the letter in his 
pocket, he made his way to Parkventon that evening. 

Mr. Kilburn was at home, alone in the library, he 
was told, and he hastily scribbled on his card, — 

“ Kindly give me an interview. Important business. 
— Yours sincerely, 

* “ Edward Sheffield.” 

Mr. Kilburn granted the interview, and Doctor 
Sheffield was committed beyond all power of withdrawal 
to the most unpleasant task that circumstances had 
ever forced upon him. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A PAGE FROM THE PAST. 

The important, horribly condemning letter, written 
twenty-four years ago by Mrs. Maunders to her hus- 
band in the early days of their marriage, during one of 
her few brief absences from home, had been read 
by Gilbert Kilburn, and was now lying open on the 
table, on which he was resting his elbows — his face 
partially concealed by one hand. At a little distance 
from him sat Doctor Sheffield, watching with painful 
anxiety the storm of feeling which was almost convuls- 
ing Gilbert Kilburn. The letter will help to explain the 
complication. It ran as follows : — 

“Baxton, August 10 th. 

“ My dear Husband, — I am longfng to be back with 
you and my darling little daughter. Still, thank you 


1 1 8 


THE KI LB URNS. 


for having sent me here. I have seen the dear little 
boy. He is called Francis White, as Lord Rollamore 
means to keep him in ignorance of his right to the 
name of Kilburn till after his (Lord Rollamore’s) death. 
He has quite forgotten me, which perhaps is just as 
well. Lord Rollamore’s cruelty in casting off his own 
legitimate son because that son’s unhappy mother 
erred against him is inconceivable. How could I have 
been infatuated with such a man ? But infatuated 
I was, and had not you held out a rescuing hand, where 
should I have been now? — Your grateful, loving 
wife, 

“ Florence Maunders." 

“ What was Mrs. Maunders’s maiden name?" Gil- 
bert asked at last, with an effort, and the answer that 
he feared came. 

“ White." 

“ Then she is the mother of my father’s eldest son — 
of Lord Rollamore ? " 

“ There is no doubt about it in my mind,” Doctor 
Sheffield said, sadly. “ I have known it for a long 
time, and I should have kept it secret had you not be- 
come engaged to Florence. As it is, I had no alterna- 
tive but to tell you." 

“You had no alternative." 

“ She was your father’s first wife. She is the mother 
of your half-brother — " 

“I know what you mean," Gilbert interrupted im- 
patiently. “ Good heavens, man, don’t think that I’m 
ungrateful ! You have stopped me on the brink of an 
abyss. I must give up Florence." 

“And you must give her up without condemning 
her mother? I have the right to demand that of you, 
for I am going to marry Kathleen, and I am bound to 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 


1 19 

protect the name of my wife’s mother to the utmost.” 

“ I must give up Florence,” Gilbert repeated slowly. 
“I must give up the girl I love better than my life. 
This morning I was glorying in the thought of what I 
could do for her, and of how she would help me to do 
my duty in the splendid position I believed myself 
called upon to fill. Now I know myself to be — rightly 
enough — ousted from that position, without a penny 
in the world that I can call my own. But I shoijdn’t 
have felt all this to be unbearably hard if I could 
honorably claim Florence. As it is, I must give her 
up, in what will seem an underhand, hole-and-corner 
sort of way to her. For the sake of 4 protecting her 
mother’s name,’ as you say, I must let the girl I love 
think me a weak, feeble-hearted sort of fellow, who is 
so afraid of poverty that he’ll break his vow, and re- 
nounce her rather than work for her. But I’ll do it 
without flinching, Sheffield, don’t fear that I shall 
fail.” 

“The knowledge that the alliance would be an un- 
natural one will help you to get over your disappoint- 
ment,” Doctor Sheffield remarked, with calm philos- 
ophy. 

“I can’t go into that part of the subject. I’m not 
sure whether or not the table of affinity provides for 
such a contingency as a man’s wanting to marry the 
daughter of his father’s first wife. But I know my own 
feeling revolts at the idea. ” 

“Exactly! that proves it to be ‘unnatural,’ from 
your point of view as well as from mine. Shall you 
see Florence ? ” 

“ That is impossible. It would be the one straw too 
much. I’ll write to her at once, though. My poor 
girl ! my poor Flo ! This page from her mother’s past 
has blighted her life.” 


120 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


Doctor Sheffield did not say, “ She would have been 
wiser and happier if she had fixed her affections on me 
instead of aiming at you,” but he thought it. 

“ It would be presumptuous on my part to say, that 
If you have any plans in which I can be of the slightest 
assistance to you, I trust you will command me, Kil- 
burn.” 

“Not presumptuous at all, but considerate,” Gilbert 
saic^ heartily. “Just now I have no plans beyond get- 
ting my poor mother and sisters out of this house, to 
which we no longer have a right, as speedily as pos- 
sible. After that I must look out for -a situation as 
agent, or bailiff — something by which I can help to 
maintain them.” 

“Lord Rollamore, your brother — he is that, remem- 
ber — will probably be glad of your continued services 
in superintending and managing the estate. The whole 
property has increased in value, and every employee 
on it is in more prosperous cases since you have been 
acting as your father's agent and adviser.” 

“It may even come to that. I may be compelled to 
take service gratefully under Lord Rollamore.” 

“ If he has anything of the Kilburn in him, and if you 
are disposed to meet him without prejudice, there is no 
need for the relations between you to be unpleasant,” 
Doctor Sheffield observed, with the liberal unselfishness 
of one who was not personally concerned in the 
matter. 

“ I shall never be unreasonable enough to resent on 
him the injury that has been done to me by our father. 
You can't realize what it is, Sheffield. I’ve been son 
and heir all my life, and fora few hours I've been 'Lord 
Rollamore.' Now I'm suddenly made aware that I’ve 
been an impostor in both positions — an innocent one, 
but still an impostor. The situation doesn't admit of 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST 


I 2 T 


argument at present, and I’ve no wish to be led into 
any expression of mere feeling.” 

“I can only repeat, command me if can ever be of 
the slightest service to you,” Doctor Sheffield said def- 
erentially, for he felt more genuine sympathy and re- 
gret for what had befallen Gilbert Kilburn than would 
have been his portion had he not at one time suffered 
pangs of jealousy and uncharitable envy on account of 
the then fortunate, but now most luckless, young man. 

“ I may soon take you at your word, doctor. Mine 
will be a very practical, work-a-day life on a low rung 
of the ladder, probably.” 

“You have given up the idea of taking Orders ? ” 

“ Entirely.” 

ll Florence shall understand clearly from me that you 
have not been actuated by any idle caprice in following 
the course you are compelled to pursue,” Doctor Shef- 
field promised, as he took his leave, feeling more down- 
hearted for his defeated and dethroned rival than he 
had ever felt for another human being in the course of 
his hitherto selfish life. 

“ Not even Wyndham shall know that the unfortu- 
nate woman who has lived so blamelessly at Caddleton 
for the last twenty-five years is the guilty wife and 
heartless mother who deserted my father and her £hild. 
She shall never be shamed by being made known to 
and disowned by her son Lord Rollamore — if I can 
help it,” Gilbert promised himself earnestly as he went 
about the heart-breaking task of writing the explanatory 
letter to Florence, which would put an impassable bar- 
rier between them forever. 


Mr. Wyndham, meantime, had found little difficulty 
in tracing out the new Lord Rollamore. The firm who 
had acted for the lawyer and his patron in the matter 


122 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


of Francis White were ready to be the medium of 
communication still with their ennobled client, bu. at 
this juncture Mr. Wyndham felt that he must take the 
matter into his own hands. He, and he only, knew 
of these extenuating circumstances which might plead 
with the disowned for forgiveness of his father. He, 
Wyndham, and he only (so he believed), knew what 
the career of the new Lord Rollamore’s mother had been 
up to the time of her elopement, for which her husband 
had divorced her. After that event he had lost sight of 
her altogether, but, some years after, a vague rumor 
had reached him to the effect that her lover had desert- 
ed her, and that she had gone down to the dogs. It 
had not been his business to make inquiries concern- 
ing her fate, and it would have appalled him now* to 
hear that Doctor Sheffield had established the identity 
of gentle, highly-respected Mrs. Maunders of Caddleton 
with that of the false wife and frail woman who had 
turned the late Lord Rollamore’s wholesome heart to 
gall. 

So he took the address of the artist poet, and drove to 
the studio in which Mrs. Torrens had found the hand- 
some model from whom Francis White was painting 
the figure of Elaine. From the same smart boy who 
had so mercilessly projected the rich widow into the 
midst of the Bohemian group, the lawyer got Mr. 
White’s address, and the information that his “master 
was to be married the next day.” 

“The cup will be dashed from the widow’s lips, I 
fancy,” Wyndham thought, smiling dryly ; “Lord Rol- 
lamore will think twice before he marries his grand- 
mother — and then he won’t do it.” 

But the fates favored Mrs. Torrens this day, and 
were unpropitious to the scheme of furthering Lord 
Rollamore’s. He had gone down to the country to 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST. 


123 


stay at a bachelor friend's house, “ where," the discreet 
mistress of the house in which he had chambers pro- 
fessed not to know. 

So the only thing that remained for Mr. Wyndham to 
do was to wait, and go down the following morning to 
the house of the bride-elect, there to await the bride- 
groom and give him the great news. 

In a certain way it was to be an old-fashioned wed- 
ding. The happy pair were to be made man and wife 
at eleven o’clock in the morning, and were to come 
back to a sumptuous breakfast. When Mrs. Torrens 
— already attired .in her bridal splendor of old gold 
silk, and satin, priceless point lace, and diamonds 
that made one blink to look at her — saw the name of 
the uninvited guest, she remembered him as a fellow- 
guest at Parkventon, and forthwith bustled down with a 
hospitably pressing invitation for him to stay and join 
in the festivities. It seemed almost cruel to give her 
the news of that great stroke of good fortune, which 
would probably smite her apart from the man for whom 
she was ready to pay such a heavy price. Still, Mr. 
Wyndham nerved himself to the task, and gave her 
the skeleton of the story as briefly and succinctly as 
he could. 

Her first words gave him a better impression of her 
than he had wished to have. 

“ I'm disappointed that it should be so in away, Mr. 
Wyndham. I wanted to make him independent of the 
world, and looked up to as rich people are looked up 
to. I wanted to do it by myself alone. D’ye see? I 
had no mean intention of keeping him dependent on 
me. I meant, as soon as we were married, to giv'e the 
sole control for his own use and benefit, to do as he 
pleased, with nearly everything I have. He won’t 


124 


THE KI LB URNS. 


value it now he's Lord Rollamore, with a large income 
of his own." 

“You are very generous, Mrs. Torrens. I trust 
Lord Rollamore’s gratitude will equal your gener- 
osity. " 

“ Gratitude ! he'll have no call to show much ‘ grati- 
tude ' now. ‘ He'll have plenty without mine, though I 
shall give it to him just the same. Still, one can't ex- 
pect a person to show or to feel as much gratitude for 
a gift that's not of much value to them, as for one that’s 
just everything. He'll give me as good, or better, than 
I can give him ; he’ll give me a title, you see. It's 
something to be Lady Rollamore. 

Mr. Wyndham bowed his head assentingly in silence, 
and Mrs. Torrens's face suddenly assumed an expression 
of heart-rending anxiety. 

“ You're not thinking that he will try to get out of the 
marriage now, are you, Mr. Wyndham ? Oh, he 
couldn't — he couldn't be so base. You've no right to 
suspect him of such a meanness, and falseness, and 
badness. I despise you for thinking such low things of 
a man, and he your old friend's son, too, as you've just 
been telling me. Don't mind what I say," the agitated 
lady went on imploringly, “ I’m half-distracted at the. 
bare doubt you've put into my mind." 

“My dear madam, I have said nothing," Mr. Wynd- 
ham interrupted soothingly. 

“ Your face spoke your thought just as plainly as 
your lips could have spoken, Mr. Wyndham, and I shall 
find it hard to forgive you for harboring such thoughts 
of him. Why, I worship the ground he treads on ; and 
you to think he'd throw me over because it's found out 
that he’s a lord instead of only a gentleman ! There, 
do forgive me, Mr. Wyndham ; but, if I am talking like 
a madwoman, I'm only talking as I'm feeling. He'll 


A PAGE FROM THE PAST. 


1 25 


. be here in a few minutes now. Oh, if you’d only keep 
back your news till after the wedding, I’d bless you 
and benefit you, too ! ” 

She dried her tears and turned her unhappy, mottled, 
swollen face towards him beseechingly, but he could 
not hesitate for a moment between justice and mercy. 
Perhaps, if she had been a fair young being, pleading 
for the retention of her honor at the cost of Mr. Wynd- 
ham’s conscience being slightly strained, he might have 
listened to the voice of the charmer. As it was, he 
was inexorable. 

“ I have no choice in the matter, Mrs. Torrens. My 
duty to Lord Rollamore compels me to communicate 
the change that has taken place in his circumstances 
and position to him without delay.” 

“ Pity your duty didn’t lead you to tell him the truth 
sooner; I might have been spared some trouble and 
some mortification,” the now angry woman gasped 
out spasmodically as she hurried out of the room. 

Then, for an hour, Mr. Wyndham had to resign him- 
self to waiting with such patience as he could command 
for the arrival of the new Lord Rollamore. While he 
waited passively, Mrs. Torrens acted. 

The bridegroom was waiting before the altar rails, 
and all the richly-robed friends and acquaintances of 
“ Mrs. Mammon,” as Mrs. Torrens was called by the 
majority of them, were ranged with a capital eye to 
spectacular effect, when the bride appeared, shaking 
with emotion, and leaning on the arm of her lawyer, 
who gave her away. 

Fortunately — for her — there was no delay. 

The binding sentences fell with solemn glibness from 
the clergyman’s lips ; the binding ring was forced upon 
her fat finger without hesitation ; the ceremony, in fact, 
proceeded and was concluded “without an ’itch any- 


126 


THE K I LB UR NS. 


where/’ as one of the city Croesuses observed. In short, 
Lord Rollamore and the relict of the late Thomas 
Torrens were made man and wife as firmly as the 
ordinances of the Church and the law of the land could 
make them. Then, having carried her point, the bride, 
feeling horribly frightened, carried her husband home 
to hear the truth about himself from Mr. Wyndham, the 
lawyer of the Rollamore family. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 

Humiliation followed fast upon Lady Rollamore’s 
victory. The storm of reproach and invective which 
her new lord and master discharged at her as soon as 
he comprehended his own case would not be edifying 
were it recorded. It is enough to say that he showed 
himself in such revoltingly selfish colors that the un- 
fortunate woman, who, by her own trick of conceal- 
ment, had become his wife, would have unmarried her- 
self on the spot had she been able to do it. 

“I’ll get the marriage annulled. It can’t be legal, 
as I married her under the name of White, my right 
name being Kilburn. I’ve been led into a fraud by the 
brutality of my father and the sly perfidy of the woman 
who has tricked me into making her my wife,” he said 
to Mr. Wyndham, in the presence of the luckless woman 
who was paying a more severe penalty for her folly 
than fools are generally called upon to pay. 

“You’ll find yourself foiled in that attempt, and make 
yourself an object of public ridicule in making it,” Mr. 
Wyndham observed coolly. “The law of the land, as 


THE PLEASURES OF POVERTY. 


127 


well as public opinion, will be against you, and you 
can't afford to defy either, Lord Rollamore. Remember, 
you have your way still to make in society. You start 
heavily handicapped." 

“I may ask, whose fault is that?" 

“You may, but the question is frivolous. Your 
father's faulty conduct towards you has been, and is, a 
terrible misfortune for you. By your own conduct you 
may avert, and finally entirely overcome, the con- 
sequences of the misfortune under which you have 
labored all your life. But you'll have to move warily, 
and if you start by outraging the claims of the lady you 
have just made your wife, you will commence by set- 
ting all honorable and right-minded people against 
you. " 

“I am not disposed to listen to amateur lecturers, 
Mr. Wyndham. I may ask you for legal advice, but I 
shall regard advice on social and domestic affairs as — 
impertinence." 

“After that remark, Lord Rollamore, I must request 
that you seek another legal adviser, to whom I shall be 
glad immediately to transfer all papers and documents 
relating to your business and property." 

Then the two men bowed stiffly, and Mr. Wyndham 
departed, leaving Lord Rollamore. 

“He can't divorce me, that’s one comfort," Lady 
Rollamore said to her daughter, when describing this 
interview to her; “that Mr. Wyndham put it to him 
beautifully and clearly. He can't get rid of me as he 
would wish, the selfish fellow, or rob me of my title, 
for the law of the land and public opinion would both 
be against him,' Mr. Wyndham said." 

“ Mamma, if I were you I’d never see him or speak 
to him again after his brutally insulting conduct to 
you." 


128 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


“ Yes, you would, my dear, if you were me ; you'd 
make allowances for his head being a little turned at 
the time by suddenly hearing that he was a lord." 

“ I could never make allowances for a man behaving 
like a brute in consideration of his being a snob." 

“ He can't be a snob, my dear May, because he's 
nobly born. You must allow that you've been mis- 
taken all along in declaring him to be no gentleman." 

“I declare it still more emphatically than ever, and 
if in the end he were to turn out a Duke, I should still 
have penetration enough to see the snob under the 
strawberry leaves. How glad I was when all those 
people went to-day ! A wedding breakfast at whij^h 
the bridegroom wouldn't appear because he had heard 
in the interim between that and the wedding that he 
was rather a grander person than he had believed him- 
self to be before, was such a ghastly mockery. Be 
dignified. Let him go, mother, without a word." 

“ I couldn't, May ; I'll have something to show for 
what I've suffered to-day. I shall go down to Park- 
venton, whether he likes it or not, when he goes to 
take his place among the county aristocracy, if it's only 
for seeing how that stuck-up woman, the dowager Lady 
Rollamore, will look when she sees me." 

“Don't gloat over them. Remember, /shall belong 
to those Kilburns soon, and Pm so proud of them." 

“ They've never shown upstart airs to you, have 
they ? " 

“ Mamma, dear, not being upstarts, you see they 
couldn't do it. They leave such things as upstart airs 
to their half-brother." 

“ It’s a curious case altogether," Lady Rollamore 
said, with unwonted thoughtfulness. “ It's like the 
marriage mixing up in the Royal family, almost. I 
shall be sister-in-law to my own daughter, and mother- 


THE FLEAS URES OF POVERTY. 


129 

in-law to my brother-in-law, when you marry Fergus. 
It’s quite confusing/’ 

Very shortly a stiff letter from Lord Rollamore’s new- 
ly-appointed man of business, inquiring when Park- 
venton would be empty, in order that preparations for 
the reception of his client might be made without delay, 
spurred Gilbert on to remove his mother and sisters at 
once. 

A small house, standing in its own high-hedged 
garden, in a lane that led down from the High Street 
to the river, was the house to which he took them. The 
cottage, for it was little more, had been vacant for some 
time, and the damp had got in and destroyed the papers, 
which, even in their pristine purity, had been hideous. 
But “we can alter all that in a few weeks/' he said ; 
“ papers are cheap enough." 

“And we’ll make at least one room lovely for mam- 
ma," the sisters said, hopefully. “All the prettiest things 
that belong to us shall go into her sanctum. Don’t look 
grave, Gilbert, we’ll be very happy here.’’ 

It really was better than they had expected, when 
they finally moved in. Some few bits of really good 
old furniture that the widowed Lady Rollamore had 
picked up at different times in Belgium and Italy, made 
quite a fair, show in the little cottage rooms. The 
garden, which had gone into a state of luxuriant ruin, 
was soon weeded, and pruned, and trimmed back into 
beauty. It had a tidy lawn encircled by gigantic aza- 
leas and rhododendron bushes, and near the centre of 
this a fine beathania spread its branches abroad, covered 
in early summer with its delicately pale, yellow, butter- 
fly-like flowers. Down at the bottom of the garden, 
the Cad flowed kindly, just inside the hedge of their 
little domain. Altogether, there were possibilities about 
the place that made the plucky young people feel pleased 


i3° 


THE KI LB URNS. 


and contented, at least while the work of organizing 
and arranging things lasted. 

But when that was over, and they settled down to 
the new life, it was very hard to keep up the aspect of 
cheerful contentment. The poor widow lady, who had 
been a wealthy and luxuriously-inclined woman all her 
life, looked at her nearly empty cash-box with dismay, 
and realized with dismay that what that poor, nearly 
empty box contained was all that stood between pau- 
perism and herself and children, until her next quarters 
pittance should be due. While her two daughters wore 
themselves out in endeavoring to teach what they did 
not know themselves, namely, the duties of “general 
servant" to a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling young 
woman, who had come to them from a “Penitentiary" 
for low wages. 

’“ Mamma must never feel the loss of a maid," the 
daughters had decided at the outset, so one of them told 
herself off to the daily dutiful task of doing every morn- 
ing all that Lady Rollamore’s clever French maid had 
been wont to do in the old days. Her early cup of tea 
was never forgotten, and it was not the asthmatic peni- 
tent who made and brought it up, with delicately-cut 
bread and butter, to her bedside. Her bath, heated to 
the exact temperature, was never omitted. Then, when 
it came to the other part of the toilet, they would tell 
her that “ it was so nice to have a gossip with her in 
her own room, like they did when they were children ; " 
so she let them wait on her and dress her hair, “ for 
their pleasure," as she thought, dear, loving, deluded 
soul. 

But some little troubles they could not keep from her. 
The daily paper, and new books from the library, could 
be no longer afforded, so many hours of the day and 


THE ELEA SHAHS OF PO VER TY. 


131 

night passed heavily for the woman who had now no 
society claims upon her time and interest. 

Gilbert was often away from home seeking for em- 
ployment in London, and not finding it. It is astonish- 
ing how difficult it is to find employment that is not ab- 
solutely unremunerative when one is in earnest — and 
poor ! Two months ago the Honorable Gilbert Kil- 
burn could have gone into anything into which he as- 
pired to enter, whether he could show adequate fitness 
for the career or not. But now he had to listen to un- 
palatable truths concerning his want of experience, lack 
of training, and general unsuitability from every em- 
ployer’s lips. He was still the Honorable Gilbert Kil- 
burn, but he was not the future Lord Rollamore ! Men 
who would have been proud to receive the most distant 
recognition from him in the old days, patted him on the 
shoulder, and reminded him of this now. They only 
“ patted him once, though/' for he had a way of look- 
ing as if he might mistake a second pat for a blow — and 
return it. 

“ You want experience, you see ; not having capital, 
unfortunately, you haven't experience," he was told 
time after time, until he found he got through the busi- 
ness of being rejected rather faster and less exasperat- 
ingly if he prefaced his application by saying, — 

“ I have neither money nor experience. Will you 
give me — so-and-so ? " 

Then he was told, with exasperating circumlocution, 
that without “ money or experience," etc., etc., he 
could not be received into such-and-such " a branch, or 
office, or whatever it might be for which he was apply- 
ing. 

Funds were very low with him. It was worse than 
useless — it was practically impossible for him to remain 
any longer in London. He had refused to be Mr. Wynd- 


132 


THE KI LB URNS. 


ham’s guest, on the ground that he could not be fettered 
by the conventionalities of social life while he was look- 
ing out for employment. Now it had come to this : he 
could no longer pay even for the humble lodgings he 
was occupying. 

“I must go down to the Caddleton cottage and offer 
my services as agent, steward, hind, anything , to some 
of the neighboring landowners who knew my father,” 
he told Mr. Wyndham, half hoping that Mr. Wyndham 
would try to dissuade him from so far voluntarily hu- 
miliating himself. He was more surprised than pleased, 
therefore, when the lawyer replied, — 

“ Quite right, my boy ! Go where you are known, 
and don’t repel any brotherly advances Lord Rollamore 
may make. He is not to blame, remember, for having 
been defrauded of the position and consideration which 
was his birthright all these years. ” 

“ There are other circumstances besides those con- 
nected with Lord Rollamore which make it almost im- 
possible I should live at Caddleton. The situation, if 
I’m compelled to accept it, will be unbearably painful 
and unpleasant.” 

Then he told Mr. Wyndham of his brief engagement 
to Florence Maunders, and of his having broken it off, 
assigning his poverty-stricken condition as the reason 
for his having done so. 

“ I think you were wrong, Gilbert. Miss Maunders 
has, to my certain knowledge, been brought up wisely, 
well, and thriftily. She wouldn’t have exchanged a life 
of idle luxury for one of penury in marrying you. ” 

“ Did you know the doctor?” Gilbert asked. 

“ No. Your father never went to Parkventon after 
his first wedding-visit until last year. I never met 
Doctor Maunders, therefore.” 

“ Do you know Mrs. Maunders ?” 


THE FLEAS URES OF POVERTY . 


1 33 

“ I have not that pleasure, but I hear she is a most 
excellent lady. ” 

“ You can tell me nothing about her — nothing of her 
antecedents? ” Gilbert asked anxiously, and he scorned 
himself for having made the inquiry when the lawyer 
replied decisively, — 

“ She is an absolute stranger to me, but I admired 
what I heard of her when I was down at Parkventon. 
She was a brave woman to start a shop in the little 
country town in which she had lived as the wife of a 
professional man. The daughter of such a mother 
ought to have good stuff in her/’ 

“ She has splendid stuff in her.” 

Then show that you have equally splendid stuff in 
you, Gilbert. Put the poorer part of your pride aside, 
renew your engagement, and marry her as soon as you 
feel justified in taking the responsibility upon your- 
self.” 

“ I shall never marry her — or any other woman.” 

“Nonsense, man ! your circumstances aren’t always 
going to*be as bad as they are at present.” 

“ Don’t speak about it any more, Wyndham. If I 
became possessed of the wealth of the Rothschilds to- 
morrow, it would still be impossible for me to marry 
Florence Maunders.” 

“ He has heard something about her that has annoyed 
him, and he is implacable and unforgiving as his father 
was before him. Who knows but if my poor old friend 
had believed his wife instead of her traducer, she might 
have been, his honored widow now, instead of being 
the degraded outcast I fear she is ? ” ' 

There was no one to answer this question, so Mr 
Wyndham discreetly did not ask it aloud. 

Gilbert Kilburn went back to Caddleton in a heavily 
disturbed frame of mind. 


134 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


The difficulties that had met and baffled him while he 
had been seeking for even lowly-remunerated work in 
London had forced the knowledge of that ghastly truth 
upon him, that however willing a man may be to labor, 
the labor itself may be denied to him. 

“ If Td only myself to think of, Fd enlist or go as a 
gamekeeper ; but neither a privates pay nor a game- 
keeper s salary would be of any use to my mother and 
the girls, and clearly they can't live on what they've 
got," he said to Doctor Sheffield, when they were talk- 
ing things over the night of his return. 

“ Will you see your brother — " 

“ Fergus? Poor chap, he can’t help me." 

“ I meant your other brother, Lord Rollannore. He 
expressed himself to me to-day as being greatly dis- 
turbed at the persistent way in which you all hold 
aloof from him." 

“ I think my ‘ other brother,’ as you call Lord Rolla- 
more, must bear that crumple in his rose-leaf." 

Gilbert’s manner was not encouraging. Doctor Shef- 
field refrained from making further suggestions.* 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MISTAKEN ALL ROUND. 

When Florence had first received and grasped the 
meaning of her lover’s ultimatum, she had been more 
angry than sorry. There was nothing of the patient 
Griselda, or long-suffering ass, about Mrs. Maunders’s 
second daughter. Very properly and proudly she had 
offered him his release in the days of his honor and 
prosperity. Very proudly and lovingly had she ac- 
cepted his refusal to take it. It seemed to her fickle and 


MISTAKEN ALL ROUND . 


135 


unreasonable to the last degree that he should cast her 
off without a lucid explanation, simply because circum- 
stances had brought him down to her level. 

“ I cannot give you all my reasons for saying (God 
knows with what bitterness I say it) that we never can 
be man and wife. But you must believe that my deci- 
sion is like my love — unalterable/’ 

She read and re-read this crushing sentence a hun- 
dred times before she could make up her mind how she 
should reply to it. No one could help her, so she 
sought counsel of no one. By-and-by she would tell 
her mother and sister the bare facts, and there would 
be an end of it, as far as externals went. As for her 
own inner life — it is useless for any one to attempt to 
describe what a girl feels and endures 4 * behind the 
veil,” when the love of her life is murdered. 

“If I write, and plead, and protest, he will despise 
me ; if I don’t write at all, he will think me sulky. I’ll 
write. ” 

So she wrote in her clear, strong, unwavering hand,- — 


“ I accept and abide by your decision. God bless 
you. 


“Florence Maunders.” 


‘She didn’t love me as I loved her,” was Gilbert’s 
comment as he read the note which had cost her such 
a brave effort to pen. “ Or — has she a suspicion of the 
. ghastly truth ? ” 

The fear that she might have this suspicion fretted 
him for several days until Doctor Sheffield was able to 
assure him that neither of Mrs. Maunders’s daughters 
had the faintest glimmer of a doubt about her. 

“As a proof of this,” he added, “they both con- 
stantly speculate about the mother of the present Lord 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


136 

Rollamore. They wonder ‘ who she was/ and ‘what 
became of her ’ in the most open and ingenuous way. ” 
“Mrs. Maunders listens to her children’s specula- 
tions ?” Gilbert asked, and when Doctor Sheffield 
replied, — 

“ She is often present when they are speaking about 
it, but she has grown very abstracted of late. I’m 
afraid she’s not well,” Mr. Kilburn said severely, — 

“ She has that on her mind which may well make a 
woman, with any conscience left, abstracted and ill.’’ 

“ I wish I had never shown you that letter,” Doctor 
Sheffield said, abruptly. “The matter’s out of our 
hands, and beyond our control now. Any attempt to 
clear up the mystery which surrounds the fate of your 
father’s first wife might result in confusion to Mrs. 
Maunders, and consequently to the whole family, Lord 
Rollamore and the rest of you Kilburns included, or it 
might turn out that we have found a mare’s nest, and 
that she is an innocent woman. ’’ 

“ I have no desire to stir still waters, and cast more 
mud on my father’s memory. My life is wrecked. I 
don’t want to pile up the pieces of the wreckage and set 
fire to them, in order that those who run may read, by 
the light they make, the story of the Kilburn folly, 
deception, and shame. I11 fact, I give it all up, Shef- 
field. I can’t clear my father s name, and I won’t cloud 
it ; so I give it all up. I must try and forget my noble 
birth, and all the traditions by which I’ve been sur- 
rounded from my cradle, and take my place among the 
lower orders, who are as good men as I am, now that 
the falsities which have enwrapped me from my birth 
have been stripped from me.” 

There was nothing to be said in answer to this by a 
man who could not help himself, so Gilbert had the 
exasperating consciousness that he had expended his 


MISTAKEN ALL ROUND . 


137 


shot for nothing-. He had really meant it all — meant 
all the misery and self-abnegation, and intention of 
renunciation of all good things that pertained to his 
birthright, and acceptance of the common lot most 
thoroughly. But when Doctor Sheffield silently took it 
all for granted, Gilbert wished that he had shown a 
little more “kick.” “Sheffield’s a fellow who doesn’t 
understand that there’s more pluck shown in quiescence 
than fight,” he thought, and down in the depths of 
disappointment, as he was already, he went into a 
deeper one still. 

If Florence had even thought it worth while to write 
a line of regret, he would have been better satisfied ; 
but that she should have let him go free, without a 
word of appeal against his decision, mortified him. He 
was a good, true, honorable fellow, but it soured him 
to think that the girl for whom he had been ready to 
risk and sacrifice everything in the days of his prosper- 
ity should renounce him, or rather let him renounce 
her, so calmly in the days of his adversity. She was 
doing exactly what he wanted her to do — abiding by 
his decision. But if she had rebelled against it a little, 
he would have been better pleased. 

Meantime, Florence was not enjoying herself at all. 
The poor girl had done nothing which she ought not to 
have done, and left nothing undone which she ought to 
have done ; nevertheless, happiness and herself were 
far apart. That curious factor in our social scheme 
which we call “they say,” was beginning to oppress 
her. People, who had no business to do it, asked her 
in round-about ways “if it was true that they had to 
offer her congratulations on her engagement to Mr. 
Kilburn,” or with mournful smiles would press her 
hand and pathetically bid her “not to despair — there 
were as good fish in the sea as were yet caught ! ” 


THE K I LB URNS. 


138 

Others would touch the tender spot more cautiously, 
but with heavier pressure, telling her that “probably 
Mr. Kilburn found, now that he had turned out to be 
nobody, that it was needful he should marry money ; " 
adding, “that, of course, she couldn't blame him for 
what was only common prudence." 

To all of these Florence made the same reply. “ I 
am not going to speak about it, "she would say very 
definitely, and in this she did her friends and neighbors 
a wrong which they found it hard to forgive. If she 
had blamed him, or excused him, or defended him, they 
would have had the satisfaction of quoting or misquot- 
ing her on the matter. As it was, she brought it to a 
deadlock, and left that “many-headed monster thing," 
the Caddleton public, in doubt as to whether she or Mr. 
Kilburn was the one to blame. 

Her mother's manner, too, puzzled and distressed the 
girl. In the first burst of her bitter disappointment, 
when she heard from her daughter that “the engage- 
ment was at an end," Mrs. Maunders declared herself 
to be a “ rightly punished fool, for having a second 
time trusted a Kilburn." When Florence asked “who 
had been the first Kilburn she had trusted, and what 
she had trusted him with ? ” her mother answered by 
doleful shakes of her head, and distressing sobs, which 
were suggestive of all manner of bygone misery and 
present remorse. But, beyond this, Florence could 
gain nothing, so she surmised a series of disagreeable 
possibilities, which were all far from the facts of the 
case. 

Oddly enough, Doctor Sheffield, whom she had never 
liked very much after the time he began to fall in love 
with her, was her greatest comfort and confidant now. 
He soothed her wounded love and pride by telling her 
that Gilbert Kilburn had no option in the matter. 


MISTAKEN ALL ROUND. 


139 


“ I am bound, as a man of honor, not to tell you or 
any one else the reason, Flo, but you must believe me 
when I tell you that it was one that left Gilbert Kilburn 
no alternative. Since his father s death, he found out 
something which made marriage with you an impossi- 
bility.” 

“ Does it make marriage with any one else an impos- 
sibility ? ” 

Unwillingly he answered, “No.” 

“ Then it must be something disgraceful which con- 
cerned his father and mine ? ” Florence persisted, and 
Dr. Sheffield was satisfied to leave her in this belief, 
rather than let her pursue her researches further, and 
possibly end by suspecting her mother. 

After this, Florence seemed to be drawn nearer in 
sympathy to her future brother-in-law, and showed 
such consideration for him, and liking for his compan- 
ionship, that Kathleen was alternately gratified beyond 
measure and jealous beyond control. However, as her 
trousseau was in hand, and she was shortly to be mar- 
ried, the fits of jealousy, though excruciating while they 
lasted, were comparatively brief, and Florence remained 
comfortably ignorant of her sister ever being attacked 
by them. 

The Rollamores had been established at Parkventon 
about a month before the half-brothers met. Then 
Lord Rollamore took the initiative, and called at the 
river-side cottage on his step-mother. 

He had toned down his manner considerably, and 
shorn himself of many of his affectations since his eleva- 
tion to the title. Additionally, all that was human and 
manly in him was touched by the signs of poverty 
which, in spite of all her children’s efforts and care, 
surrounded the lady who had been his hostess, envi- 
roned by all the refinements and luxuries of life when 


14 o 


THE KI LB URNS. 


last he had seen her. His presence was obnoxious to 
her at first, as being a living token, and reminder of 
the long, cruel course of deception which her husband 
had practiced towards her and her children, especially 
towards Gilbert, whom she idolized. But she was a 
generous-hearted as well as a just woman, and she per- 
mitted herself to take him on his own merits before he 
had been with her half-an-hour. 

There was a want of fine taste and high breeding 
about him, certainly, and this surprised her in her hus- 
band's son ; but she took it for granted that the mother 
had come across and marred the breed. For instance, 
it was embarrassing when, in explaining why Lady 
Rollamore had not accompanied him, he said, — 

“The truth is, as you know, my wife is a purse-proud, 
arrogant, vulgar woman. I dared not risk bringing her 
into contact with you ; she would infallibly have said 
something which would have jarred on you and — my 
sisters. ” 

His claiming them as “sisters" was presumptuous, 
of course, but they all forgave him, partly because, by 
the pause he had made before uttering the two last 
words, he had shown a proper sense of his presumption, 
and partly because they were all sensible enough to 
know that he at least had been guiltless in the matter of 
his birth and the concealment of his rights. Moreover, 
life in the Caddleton cottage had tamed them all con- 
siderably. 

“Feeling that about her, why did you marry her, 
Rollamore ? ” 

“My dear Madam, love of the gold that perisheth, 
but gives one all things pleasant before it does so, led 
me to propose to marry her. In the end she tricked 
me." 

Then he told them the story of her suppression of Mr. 


MISTAKEN ALL ROUND . 


141 


Wyndhams news, and showed himself to be so hope- 
lessly wretched in his matrimonial relations, that their 
hearts warmed to him still more. 

It was just as they had reached this hopeful stage 
that Gilbert came in, and, fora few moments, awkward- 
ness reigned. Again Lord Rollamore took the initia- 
tive. 

“I hear — I have been told by Doctor Sheffield that 
you have not fixed on any employment yet, and that 
you are looking out for some. Will you do a brotherly 
turn for me, and act as my steward, as you did as our 
father's ? " 

He spoke bluntly and abruptly, but they saw that he 
did this to conceal some real feeling he had about mak- 
ing the proposition to one who had been so far above 
him when last they had met. 

“You must remember that, when I acted as my 
fathers agent and steward, I was acting in my own 
future interests — at least, I believed that I was — and I 
took no salary for what I did. Circumstances have 
altered since then. ” 

“ You'll be acting in your own future interests now, 
for Lady Rollamore will outlive me, and, thank heaven, 
there'll be no son born of her,'’ Rollamore said, smiling 
rather weakly ; “ come into another room, like a good 
fellow, Gilbert, and let us settle about the salary at 
once." 

Pity for his half-brother, almost as much as for him- 
self, induced Gilbert to accede to his (Rollamore's) re- 
quest, and presently to his terms. 

“I know you're being ridiculously liberal — you 
wouldn't give any other man seven hundred for mailag- 
ing the Parkventon property." 

‘ ‘ Think of Lady Rollamore's hundreds of thousands ! 
By Jove, Gilbert, I'd give up everything I've got andgo 


142 


THE KI LB URNS . 


back to the life that I’ve left gladly, if I could only have 
my freedom again.” 

As he spoke, he was thinking of poor, pretty, hard- 
working, honefct Valerie Heath, and his face was so 
sorrowful that Gilbert accepted the situation and salary 
without further demur. 

“ After this, the interloper, as they had at first re- 
garded him, became a frequent visitor at the cottage, 
which quickly altered its aspect, and grew into keeping 
with their improved circumstances. To his father’s 
widow, Lord Rollamore told all he knew himself of the 
story of his life. 

He had never known his mother, and up to the time 
of Mr. Wyndham’s revelation to him, he had always 
taken it for granted that she was dead. But now he 
knew that no definite tidings of her death had ever been 
received by either his father or the lawyer. 

“It’s rather a bald way of putting it to a man, to tell 
him his mother was divorced, and there was an end of 
her.” 

“Poor thing, let us hope she has long been at rest, 
Rollamore,” the sympathetic dowager said gently. 

But Rollamore shook his head, and said, — 

“ I should like to know it.” 

When Gilbert heard of this conversation, his soul 
ached for the crushing blow that would fall on the girl 
he loved, if Lord Rollamore carried out his determina- 
tion to certify himself of either his mother’s death, or 
of her fate if she still lived. 


STONY GROUND . 


143 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

STONY GROUND. 

The wretched pair at Parkventon were finding the bed 
they had made for themselves thornier each day. In 
opposition to the usual order of things, it was the 
woman in this case that suffered least. It is true that 
she knew that the repugnance her husband had felt for 
her personally when they married had developed into 
a loathing and detestation which made the sight of her 
and the sound of her, and the general sense of her in 
the house such a ghastly dispensation to him, that he 
could scarcely live under it. But though she knew this 
well, she soon ceased to mind it much. She had her 
title, and she had a certain circle of county people 
whom she entertained and was entertained by, and who 
tolerated her on account of her title, and wealth, and 
foibles, which were amusing when reproduced by clever 
minxes behind her back. 

Besides this, she had another circle in which she had 
revolved in the Thomas Torrens days, and whom it 
gladdened her heart to impress and patronize now. 

Before Lord Rollamore had established friendly rela- 
tions with the other Kilburns, his wife had hoped it 
might annoy him a little if she liberally endowed her 
daughter May on her marriage with Fergus. But when 
she found that her husband had held out the olive branch 
without seeking her co-operation, she set her face against 
Fergus and the “rest of the beggarly lot,” and warned 
May that if she cast in her lot with them, she would be 
a beggar, too. The threat had little effect on May. 


144 


THE KI LB URNS. 


She knew that her mother's threats and promises were 
only binding for the minute in which they were made, 
The old lady's sentiments varied, in* fact, with the veloc- 
ity of youth. Her friends of to-day were, as a rule, 
her foes to-morrow, and vice versa. 

There were times, though, when the days seenced 
very long to the woman who had been promoted to a 
sphere in which she found nothing familiar to rest upon. 
With the wealthiest of the wealthy of her own class, 
she felt wealthy and at ease. But among the patricians, 
even the poorest of them, the remembrance of her 
wealth brought her no satisfaction, and she felt that 
they knew she had secured her title by a most unworthy 
trick. 

Moreover, she always felt out of it conversationally. 
When any one of the great county ladies did try to draw 
her into the discussion of any local social subject, her 
dread of blundering invariably caused her to do so if 
she responded, and if she did not respond she had the 
appearance of being sulky. If she evaded entangling 
her feet in either of these nets, her efforts were ungain- 
ly and ridiculous, and she had the extra pang of know- 
ing that they made her more hateful in her husband's 
eyes than she had been before. The friends of her 
younger days, whom she delighted to impress and pat- 
ronize by letter, would have been as much out of place 
at Parkventon and the neighborhood as she was her- 
self, therefore it was useless to invite them, and yet 
she did long for the consoling companionship of a con- 
temporary before whom she could feel sure of her foot- 
ing. 

As the widowed Lady Rollamore had made no ad- 
vances to her successor, that successor felt herself con- 
siderably affronted, and declined “to demean herself 
by going to pride and poverty cottage," as she called 


STONY GROUND . 


145 


the Kilburns’ home. This greatly to her husband’s re- 
lief, as it ensured him immunity from her society in at 
least one house in the neighborhood. 

Sometimes, when the new Lady Rollamore would be 
driven by the present dullness to lament over the live- 
lier past, and to regret the home and freedom she had 
resigned, May would urge her to take the leave of 
absence her husband would so gladly give her, and go 
away, either back to the place where she had reigned 
as a rich, independent widow, or to some new scenes, 
where she might create new interests for herself. 

But Lady Rollamore would not listen to her daughter’s 
advice. Social failure, as she knew herself to be, in the 
region where such widely different Lady Rollamores 
had preceded her, she would not voluntarily separate 
herself from the man and the position she had purchased 
so dearly. She knew that there is always something 
dubious about the social status of a woman who lives 
apart from her husband. Her age would probably have 
protected her from scandal, but she did not like to think 
this. If any one had hinted to her that long years had 
passed since she might have been a snare and tempta- 
tion to any man to indulge in gay fooling, she would 
probably have pointed to Lord Rollamore as a living 
proof that such was not the case. She never could 
forget that only a few months ago he had sat at her 
stumpy feet and called her his “goddess,” and his 
“ inspiration,” and her vanity, which was as collossal 
as it was ill-founded, refused to grasp the bitter truth, 
which was that he had only done this from mercenary 
motives. Accordingly, when May suggested that a 
home to themselves again, without the crushing pres- 
ence of Lord Rollamore, would be “a paradise,” Lady 
Rollamore laughed frivolously, and replied, — 

“ A hen’s paradise, my dear ; and even that we should 

10 


146 


THE KI LB URNS. 


not be suffered to enjoy undisturbed. People would 
talk about me if I lived apart from my husband, how- 
ever blamelessly I lived. They’d be sure to find some- 
thing to say about me if I even so much as looked at a 
man, or invited one to the house.” 

“ Really, mamma, I don’t think you’d be a mark for 
slanderous tongues. Your fears are surely groundless? ’ 

“ If you mean that my age is a protection, May, 
you’re talking ridiculously. A woman is as old as she 
looks, and no older, as Rollamore has told me a ’undred 
times. Now, I know how I look and feel — my glass 
tells me the one, and my feelin’s tell me the other. A 
pretty thing it would be, after being the honest wife of 
two men — your poor dear pa was as particular about a 
woman’s reputation as the greatest lord in the land 
could be — a pretty thing, as I say, ’twould be if I was 
to have a pack of lies told about rue now, and be 
divorced for nothing. No, no, May ; depend upon it, 
I’m right, whatever you may think. Rollamore was a 
deal kinder as a lover than he’s been as a husband. 
But I’ll hold on to the title and the position Tve won for 
— for your sake. ” 

“ I don’t think I’m likely to derive much benefit from 
a residence in Lord Rollamore’s, and the constant con- 
templation of Lord Rollamore’s ill-humor ; so don’t 
sacrifice yourself on my account, mamma,” May said 
kindly. In spite of the girl’s contempt for the folly and 
vanity which had first led her mother into, and now 
partially sustained her in, the situation, she could not 
help pitying and feeling sorry for her. 

“ She does not care for me much now I am with her, 
but when I am gone what a miserably lonely old age 
my poor mother will have ! ” the girl thought. There 
was such pathos in the reflection, that unconsciously 
she infused more sympathy and consideration into her 


THE NEW TENANT AT CAD VILLA . 


147 

manner towards the mother who had never striven to 
develop these qualities in her child. And even in 
making the effort, May had her reward. The fretting 
sense of being useless and valueless to her mother left 
her. She saw soon that Lady Rollamore could better 
support the idea of being deprived of her title and her 
husband than of being cut adrift from her daughter. 

But even while this more natural state of things was 
growing up and strengthening, there came a sort of 
social canker or blight upon the fair plant which checked 
its growth for a time. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE NEW TENANT AT CAD VILLA. 

One day, while Gilbert was still eating out his heart 
in vain regret for the untowardness of the fate which 
had made him love the daughter of the wife who had 
dishonored his father, while Florence was trying to 
work out and silence down the lightest echo of Gilbert's 
words of love to her, while Lord Rollamore was mak- 
ing fruitless inquiries for the mother who had deserted 
him, and whose very memory seemed to have decayed 
out of the world, and while Lady Rollamore was fight- 
ing the air in search of some alleviation for the loneli- 
ness and friendliness of her exalted position, there came 
a new excitement into Caddleton’s midst. 

A fine, flashily-dressed woman, who might have been 
either thirty-five or fifty-five (at a short distance), got 
out at the little railway-station, with a local newspaper 
in her hand. Making her way to the station-master, 
with much sweeping and swirling of silken garments, 


148 


THE KI LB URNS. 


she pointed a well-gloved finger to an advertisement of 
“ Cad Villa " to let, and inquired her way to it. 

“Was it within walking distance, or must she have a 
carriage ? ” she asked. 

The fly-proprietor's wife being the station-master's 
sister, he at once loyally declared a fly to be necessary. 
Accordingly, one was procured, and the lady was 
driven to the genteel villa residence, standing in its 
own grounds, within easy distance of station, post- 
office, church, and “ trout-fishing," which had appar- 
ently caught her fancy. 

Apparently, the lady was not very exacting. The 
house was damp, but “ plenty of fires would remedy 
that evil," she said. The grounds were weedy, and 
had lost their outline ; flower-beds assimilated them- 
selves with lawn ; and lawn with paths that led to 
tumble-down bowers and seats. 

“There must be men who can dig and weed for a 
wage in the place," she said. Then she added, with a 
harsh laugh, “men, and women, too, will do anything 
for money, and right they are, too. It’s the one friend 
in the world who never plays you false, or scorns you, 
or blames you, or fails to give you comfort while you 
have it." 

These sentiments rather staggered the young man 
from the house-agent’s office, who had met her by ap- 
pointment, but he sniggered faintly, as one who could 
sympathize with them an’ he dare, for the lady's dress 
was richer than anything that ever saw daylight in the 
Caddleton streets, and her eyes, and cheeks, and dia- 
monds were as bright as nature and art can make them 
respectively. 

“Is it Lord Rollamore’s property? Will he be my 
landlord if I take it ? " she asked, after going the round 
of the premises, and ordering multitudinous repairs. 


THE NEW TENANT AT CAD VILLA . 


149 

“ It belonged to Mrs. Maunders, the doctor’s widow/’ 
she was told. 

“ Can I see her ? Does she live near here ? ” 

“ The bookseller’s and fancy shop in the High Street 
is where Mrs. Maunders lives now. She keeps the 
shop ; but you’ll find her quite the lady to deal with,” 
she was told. 

“ I’ll go and see her at once,” the strange lady said, 
hailing the driver from the top window at which she 
was standing at the time. “ Here you ! drive me right 
away to Mrs. Maunders’s, and then find some hotel 
where I can have my lunch, I’ll settle it right off, if I 
can, to-day, and send down furniture at once. I’ve 
taken a fancy to the hole, and I mean to make it hab- 
itable.” 

There was something imperious and defiant, and, at 
the same time, lurkingly uncertain about this woman, 
which made even the agent’s clerk think her peculiar, 
or “ queer,” he called it. Still, her rich robes and 
bright eyes, diamonds, and cheeks were almost enough 
to disarm his suspicions, even had these been less form- 
less than they were. 

“ There was quite an air about her,” he stated with 
some enthusiasm, when questioned about her by an 
envious colleague. “ She didn’t seem to mind what 
the price of anything was, but it was just, ‘ this must 
be done,’ and ‘ that shall be done/ Sheve never known 
what it is to want for anything she wanted to have. 
She threw down a half-sov on the table for me, for my 
trouble in showing her about, like a real lady.” 

When her carriage — it was only a dust-begrimed 
station fly, but she stepped from it with the same air 
that had impressed the agent’s clerk, and the little street 
boys remarked that “ the carriage stopped a reer while 
to Mrs. Maunders’s ” — reached the shop, the lady went 


THE K I LB UR NS. 


150 

out of it with as much bang as could be achieved by 
adroit manipulation of the steps and door. Then she 
went in, and loudly demanded to see Mrs. Maunders, 
seating herself on one of the cosy sofas as she spoke, 
and wondering a little what the keeper of such an 
unusual shop would be like. 

While she was wondering, Mrs. Maunders came in, 
in her usual undemonstrative, sweet, gentlewomanly 
way, and, bending slightly forward over the table- 
counter, asked, in the voice which was unroughened, 
uncoarsened by time : — 

“ What can I serve you with ? ” 

The lounging woman on the sofa rose up restlessly, 
and advanced to the counter. 

“ I came about the house — Cad Villa they call it. I 
want to take it. 

Mrs. Maunders’s soft dark eyes travelled rapidly over 
her interlocutor’s face, and seemed to fail in finding 
something there for which she was looking. 

“ The house is in the hands of the agent/' she said, 
softly. “ He has my authorization for doing all repairs 
that are absolutely needful. It has stood empty a long 
time, and I am glad indeed to hear that you think of 
taking it." 

By way of answer the strange lady frowned, put her 
hand up before her eyes, sighed impatiently, and sat 
down again. 

“ There are one or two things I want to know before 
I settle down here," she said. “Is Lord Rollamore, 
the new man, of whom no one had heard anything till 
his father died, a credit to the race and place ? " 

“He is well spoken of by those who know 7 him. I 
am neither a tenant nor a workman of his, but those 
who are say he is kind andjust ; and he is much guided 
by his half-brother, Mr. Kilburn.” 


THE NEW TENANT A T CAD VILLA. 1 5 1 

Mrs. Maunders spoke so warmly when she made her 
mention of Gilbert that her visitors curiosity was 
aroused. 

“Mr. Kilburn ! that’s the son of the second wife, isn’t 
it ? ” 

“ Yes ; he who would have been Lord Rollamore — 
who always was brought up to think he would have 
been Lord Rollamore. You seem to know something 
of their story ? ” she added quickly, as she saw a curious 
smile play over her visitor’s face. 

“Oh, only what the public papers have told to the 
whole world,” the latter said, crossly. “When I spoke 
to my friends about coming down to Caddleton, they 
naturally, being fashionable folk, told me of Lord Rob 
lamore, who had been so badly used by his father, and 
about the other Kilburns, who gave themselves such 
airs. ” 

“They never did that — they couldn’t do that ; they’re 
real gentlepeople, you see,” Mrs. Maunders said, softly. 
Then something in the stranger’s face struck her, and 
troubled her vaguely. “Do you know — have you 
known any of them?” she asked nervously; “you 
seem not to wish the Kilburns well ? ” 

The lady with the bright eyes, and diamonds, and 
cheeks looked curiously dull behind what was fictitious 
on her* surface. 

“It’s long since I’ve wished man, woman, or child 
well,” she said angrily, as she got up again, pulling 
her veil down hastily, and making for the door. “I 
settle to take your house, though, Mrs. Maunders, and 
you’ll not find me a mean tenant. I’ll do the repairs 
myself. You’re like some one who loved me once, and 
for that person’s sake I’ll be liberal to you. In your 
turn, don’t tell any one that I’ve questioned you about 
Lord Rollamore , ” 


152 


THE KI LB URNS. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MADAME ROCHE SAYS “ AH ! ” 

Lady Rollamore, having few social and domestic 
duties, and absolutely no mental resources whatever, 
occupied herself a good deal in finding out what was 
going on in Caddleton. It interested her to hear about 
the private bickerings and efforts to hunt each other 
down of the class she did not visit. The tea-table talk 
of Caddleton filtered (unpurified) through the servants’ 
hall, and was conveyed to her in copious draughts by 
her maid. Caddleton Villa had not been let to Ma- 
dame Roche many hours before Lady Rollamore was 
made acquainted with the fact. The accounts of Ma- 
dame Roche’s aggressively splendid toilet, air, and ap- 
pearance, greatly exaggerated as they were, dazzled 
and excited the curiosity of the dull woman at Parkven- 
ton. She settled at once in her own mind that the new 
comer was an interesting foreigner, perhaps a political 
refugee, with few friends in cold, ungracious Albion. 
If this should turn out to be the case, Lady Rollamore 
felt that she might bind the stranger to her heart with 
iron chains of gratitude by being the first to call upon 
and hospitably entreat her in the neighborhood. 

It chanced, unfortunately, that Lord Rollamore had 
met Madame Roche in the High Street, and conceived 
an antipathy to her, before his wife made known her 
neighborly intention to him. The flashily-dressed, 
youngish-looking, elderly woman had stared at him 
with confident, smiling assurance, and he had scowled 
back at her. Undeterred by his manner, however. 


MADAME ROCHE SAYS “AH!" 


1 53 


she had afterwards walked up to him, with Doctor Shef- 
field by her side, and compelled the latter unfortunate 
gentleman to introduce Lord Rollamore to her. In de- 
fiance of his frigid air,* she had then asked him to call 
upon her, telling him at the same time so meaningly 
that she had “once known a very, very old friend of 
his, that he felt certain he was meeting an acquaint- 
ance of his mothers in this woman to whom he had 
taken so violent a dislike. 

Accordingly, his mood was unfavorable to Lady 
Rollamore’s plan of calling upon and cultivating the 
gorgeous new-comer, and, the more he opposed it, 
the more Lady Rollamore, who knew she would gain 
nothing by “studying his whims/' as she termed it, 
determined to carry out her intention. Caddleton Villa 
would be a delightful place to drop in for afternoon tea 
with a lively foreign hostess, who would, of course, be 
only too glad to amuse her. 

“ She’s not a foreigner, and she doesn’t look respect- 
able ; but, of course, you’ll please yourself, only I 
shouldn’t take May if I were in your place ; I don’t 
think Fergus would like it.” 

“ May will go where I please, not where Fergus 
pleases, till she’s married. After that he’ll be glad 
enough to please me for the sake of his pocket. They’re 
a mean-spirited set those Kilburns. ” 

“ They haven’t half a mean idea amongst them, and 
I wish with all my heart Ahat I were more like those 
Kilburns,” he retorted ill-temperedly. 

“You don’t call it ‘ mean ’ of Gilbert to come crawl- 
ing back as steward where he expected to reign as 
lord?” she asked triumphantly ; “if you don’t, I do ; 
and it’s not what I could ever bring myself to do, though 
I haven’t noble blood in my veins.” 

“ I don’t suppose for an instant you could bring your- 


154 


THE KI LB URNS. 


self to do it. It was a plucky and magnanimous thing 
to do, and has put me in a much better position here 
than I should have been in if he had not done it.” 

As Lady Rollamore did not know what “ magnani- 
mous ” meant, and was cruelly conscious of her own want 
of pluck, she was not prepared with a repartee, and the 
subj ect was therefore dropped for a time. But that same 
day she made her first call on Madame Roche, and was 
astonished and delighted at the thirst for information, 
concerning Lord Rollamore and herself, which was 
upon the fine, florid-mannered mistress of Caddleton 
Villa. 

Driving home in the cool of the evening, Lady Rolla- 
more remembered that she had given much more than 
she had received. Under the clever treatment of Ma- 
dame Roche, Lady Rollamore had disburdened her mind 
of its dearest grievances. She had told how, in the 
days of his being Francis White, with a limited income 
and limitless tastes, he had woo’d and called her “his 
goddess.” She even told how she had been driven by 
her deep dread of losing him and the title, to “keep 
back ” the all-important news of the change in his desti- 
nies until after the Church had made them one secure- 
ly. She had spoken with the bitterness of futile hatred 
of the “other Kilburns, and the influence they were 
getting over him.” So eloquent was she on this point 
that Madame Roche’s eyes flashed with fiery sympathy 
when the weak old wife told plaintively how fond Lord 
Rollamore was becoming of his father’s widow. 

“He treats her with the affection and respect of a son, 
and consults her about everything, just as if she were 
his real mother.” 

“Ah ! ” said Madame Roche. 

“ I say it isn’t natural or right, whatever his own 
mother may have been, to want to dignify her position 


x 55 


MRS. MAUNDERS GOES FOR A WALK. 

just as if she were the mother of the present Lord Roll- 
amore. Now what would you feel about it, Madame 
Roche ? " 

“ I should feel as you do ; it is unnatural. He is 
tame, tame to kiss the rod that chastened his unhappy 
mother so severely/' * 

“That’s just what I tell him," Lady Rollamore splut- 
tered out, with the more energy that she had never told 
him anything of the kind. “That's just what I tell him. 
I say, though his own mother was divorced from his 
father, as we all heard, who can tell how his father 
drove her to it ? My belief always has been that he'd 
got too fond of the second before he got rid of the first, 
and that was the reason he laid traps for her to ruin 
herself in. " 

“Ah ! " said Madame Roche again, and this time she 
said it with the burr of three or four r's hanging on to 
the ejaculation, with the sound of a clock spring gone 
wrong. 

“Will this Dowager Lady Rollamore do me the same 
honor you have done? will she call upon me?" she 
asked presently. 

“I can't tell ; they keep very close, and I see nothing 
of them. My daughter May has thrown herself away 
by engaging herself to Fergus Kilburn, the youngest 
son, a mere lieutenant in the Navy, who hasn't had the 
energy to make the Government make him an Admiral 
yet. I’ve no patience with the young man — none what- 
ever ; and May such a pretty girl, too, and would have 
such a fortune if she married to please me." 

“Ask your husband to come and see me. I want to 
talk to him of a good friend of mine who once knew 
him," Madame Roche, who had not heard one word of 
her guest's harangue, put in abruptly. 

“ It's not much use my asking him, Madame Roche; 


THE KI LB URNS. 


156 

he’s eaten up with selfishness and conceit since he came 
to the title. You wouldn’t know him for the .same man 
he was before ; so attentive he was always then, he 
couldn’t bear the wind to blow too roughly on me, and 
he used to say I was his goddess.” 

As this was about the fourth time Lady Rollamore 
had made mention of this interesting fact, it began to 
pall upon her hostess, whose stock of commiserating 
sentences was beginning to run low. Accordingly she 
took refuge in her favorite long-drawn ejaculation, 
“ Ah ! ” to which no spelling can do justice. 


“ She’s a horrible old harridan, and I won’t go near 
her,” Lord Rollamore said, angrily, when his wife de- 
livered Madame Roche’s message. 

“ She’s no older, and you can’t say that she is more 
of a harridan, than that stepmother of yours whom you 
make so much of,” Lady Rollamore said, tauntingly, 
“ I can tell you this, her house is a picture — Turkey 
carpets on all the floors, and marble images at every 
corner ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

MRS. MAUNDERS GOES FOR A WALK. 

Caddleton was following the good example of larger 
towns in the matter of having an “early closing” day 
among other things. Even Maunders’s, which had 
held out to the last, had now followed the prevailing 
fashion. Since Kathleen’s marriage, Mrs. Maunders 
and the daughter who was left with her found the busi- 
ness of the shop a little more fatiguing than it had been 
formerly. The opportunity of inaugurating the half- 


MRS. MAUNDERS GOES FOR A WALK. 15 7 

days of cessation from commercial cark and care was 
welcomed gladly. Half a day to herself, during the 
hours of which she was free to sit in the arm-chair in the 
corner of her bedroom, or walk away into the woods 
by the river, was a boon which only those who have 
lived through years of hourly employment, without 
ceasing, can appreciate. 

At any rate, Mrs. Maunders appreciated it thor- 
oughly, and enjoyed her half-holidays as intensely as 
the hardest-worked shop girl could have done. This 
special day, with the events of which we are dealing, 
the arm-chair in the quiet corner in her bedroom, had 
no charms for her. There was crispness, dry, bright, 
invigorating, sun-brightened crispness in the atmos- 
phere, and glorious color in the woods, and the close- 
clipped beech hedges. There was a path by the river 
that led through the meadow at the end of the widow 
Lady Rollamore’s garden, then winded through a wood, 
and ended abruptly on a little sparkling beach, where 
the river joined an arm of the sea. 

It was a delightful transition, from the bovine calm 
of the meadows, where red droons chewed the con- 
templative cud, to the playful turbulency of the wave- 
beaten beach. From the woods behind her came the 
continuous coo of wood-pigeons. From the inlets in 
the tidal river in front of her, flocks of sea-gulls rose 
and swirled round and about. A swan floated idly by, 
contemptuously regardless of the weak efforts to alarm 
him which were being made by a yapping spaniel on the 
bank. It was so peaceful and pleasant that Mrs. 
Maunders wondered why other people did not come 
out from dreary, dusty Caddleton, and enjoy the vigor 
and freshness of it all, as she herself was doing ; and 
even while this thought was in her mind, she saw her 
new tenant, Madame Roche, advance to the waters 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


158 

edge, and with voice and gesture urge on the spaniel 
to worry the swan. 

Involuntarily Mrs. Maunders shrank more into the 
shadow of the bit of over-hanging cliff under which she 
was sitting. She had not seen her tenant since the 
day the latter had called and made known her inten- 
tion of taking Caddleton Villa. Since then, rumors 
more piquant than pleasant had reached her relative to 
the lady and her goings-on,” as the rumorists termed 
it. There had been nothing of a distinctly desperate or 
criminal order recorded against Madame Roche, but 
they said that she entertained queer visitors of two dis- 
tinct stamps. Coarse, rough- handed, bearded, be-dia- 
mond-ringed men of the Australian •' ‘ digger ” order, 
came and caroused at her house, together with neat- 
gaitered, horsey-looking men, who were probably the 
outcome of turf interests. “They said/' also, that she 
smoked, and used strong language at times ; it was 
only natural that the local blood should have curdled 
against her, and that even Mrs. Maunders’s milk of 
human kindness should have turned a trifle sour. 

The spaniel continued to yelp, the swan continued to 
sail placidly up and down, the wood-pigeons cooed, 
the sea-gulls swirled, and the waves beat upon the 
sparkling beach, playfully turbulent as before. But 
the glory had departed from it all for Mrs. Maunders, 
for the florid stranger had discerned her under the cliff, 
and had ruthlessly invaded her restful solitude. 

“ I am fortunate in finding you here, ” Madame Roche 
began. “I was just getting tired of playing with 
Frills when I spied you out. Why do you never come 
and see me ? ” 

I very rarely leave home. I am a business woman, 
you know, and when I can leave my shop, I prefer 
going for a walk to visiting . v 


MRS. MAUNDERS GOES FOR A WALK. 


159 


“You aren't fond of society? Its foolish for a 
woman to shut herself up and forswear the pleasures 
of life before she’s too old to enjoy them." 

Madame Roche was staring hard while saying this 
at the old doctor’s gentle widow, staring questioningly. 
perplexedly, almost anxiously, it seemed to Mrs. 
Maunders, who, becoming embarrassed under the 
searching gaze, presently rose up, saying, — 

“When my husband died, I had to begin to work 
for my own living and for my children. Society gave 
me up, naturally. It has no time to make advances to 
a woman who has no time to respond. Shall we walk 
along the beach ? ” 

She turned as she spoke, and looked down into the 
face of the other woman, who was still sitting on a low 
rock. The latter rose up quickly, muttering in audibly, 
coloring through her powder and paint — betraying so 
much agitation that Mrs. Maunders exclaimed invol- 
untarily, — 

“ Are you feeling ill ? ” 

“ I’m well — quite well ! Only you remind me almost 
painfully of a friend — a relation — whom I lost years ago. 
Would you mind telling me what your maiden name 
was? Pardon me for being so curious." 

For a second or two Mrs. Maunders hesitated, then 
she said, — 

“ I was a Miss White. The name is a very common 
one." 

Madame Roche drew a deep sighing breath, whether 
of disappointment or of doubt merging into certainty it 
was difficult to determine. She walked on silently fora 
few yards, and then said, — 

“Thank you. The name is a common one, as you 
say. The lady you resemble bore it also." 

“ And her Christian name was — what was it ? " Mrs. 


i6o 


THE KI LB URNS. 


Maunders asked uneasily, and Madame half-closed her 
eyelids, watching through the narrowed aperture keenly 
the while, as she replied, with a little harsh laugh, — 

“ Her name was Florence White — a common name 
enough, you know/’ 

“Her name was Florence White, was it?” Mrs. 
Maunders faltered ; and Madame Roche rose, still 
keenly watching the other woman’s quivering mouth, 
as she answered, — 

“You claim no relationship with my friend? Yet 
you are strangely like the Florence White I knew — 
strangely like the girl who once lost her heart to a man 
called Gilbert Kilburn ! ” 

“Then who are you?” Mrs. Maunders asked, with 
hardly repressed emotion. “ Supposing I did know that 
girl you speak of — who arejyou P” 

“lam Madame Roche, my dear friend. I am a 
widow like yourself, only I happen to be rich, and I 
have a great desire to enjoy life, and see merry faces 
around me. I want all my neighbors to call and be 
friendly with me, like that vulgar old Lady Rollamore. 
Bring your pretty daughter to my house, and come 
yourself — you who are so like the Florence White I once 
knew ! — and we will enjoy life together, and I will find 
a rich husband for the pretty daughter — ” 

“ I can’t have my daughters fate and future made the 
subject of idle, frivolous speculation,” Mrs. Maunders 
interrupted with severity. 

“ Ah ! to be sure, it’s a tender topic. She has been 
jilted by the young man who has usurped his elder 
brother’s rights for so long a time — the young man who 
thought he was to be Lord Rollamore.” 

‘ ‘ The fault was not his. ” 

“ No, the fault was the wicked, harsh, vindictive old 


MRS. MA UNDERS GOES FOR A WALK. 161 

brutes who has gone to his -account not one day too 
soon/' Madame Roche said, fiercely. “ Ah ! he has to 
answer for much. He drove his first wife to sin ; he. 
nearly broke another woman’s heart. Why are you 
crying, Mrs. Maunders ? Do my reminiscences dis- 
please you ? ” 

“ For God’s mercy’s sake, let him rest ! If he erred, he 
was punished through all the long years during which he 
hugged his miserable secret, and deceived his poor wife 
and children — ” 

‘ ‘ His poor wife ! ” Madame Roche raved out, stamp- 
ing her foot with sudden passion, opening her eyes to 
their fullest width, and glaring with uncontrollable fury 
at Mrs. Maunders. “ His poor wife, you call her? The 
woman who shared his wealth and position, his pleas- 
ures, title, and honor, for more than a quarter of a cen- 
tury. Bah! don’t pity her! Call that woman ‘poor’' 
whom he disgraced and left to perish, whom he robbed 
of her child — ” 

“ She disgraced him first, God pardon her ! — she dis- 
graced him first,” Mrs. Maunders sobbed ; and Madame 
Roche glanced contemptuously at her companion as 
she rejoined, — 

“ If she has any spirit left, that consideration must be 
a satisfaction to her. She disgraced her tyrant first. ” 

“You are cruel ; I can’t listen to you,” Mrs. Maun- 
ders said spiritedly. “ We can never be real friends, 
Madame Roche — ” 

“You will alter your tune one day.” 

“We can never be real friends,” Mrs. Maunders re- 
peated firmly. 

“You are afraid of me? ” 

“ Perhaps I am.” 

“The Florence White I once knew was timid.” 

“Will you tell me who you were P ” Mrs. Maunders 


162 


THE KI LB URNS. 


asked anxiously. I know you are Madame Roche now, 
but who were you ? ” 

4 ‘That, my friend, you shall know in good time. 
Meanwhile, I am glad to have discovered that you were 
Florence White. ” 

They had walked away through the wood and 
meadow, and were back in the lahe leading to the 
widow Lady Rollamore’s house when the conversation 
reached this point. As they passed the gate, they saw 
Lord Rollamore walking slowly down the path, his 
stepmother leaning on his arm. 

“The coward ! ” Madame Roche muttered ; “see he 
fawns upon the woman who supplanted his mother/' 

“I will say good-bye to you here," Mrs. Maunders 
said, wearily ; “our paths separate — I am going to the 
lower end of the town to see some people who are ill." 

“Our paths will meet, or cross again soon," said 
Madame Roche gayly ; “you are churlish, I think, to 
refuse to be friendly with me, you who remind me so 
strongly of the Florence White I knew long ago." 

As Mrs. Maunders walked slowly away, her mind 
was tired, and a tired mind is apt to give the time to the 
legs — she asked herself, over and over again, — 

“ Who is she ? She knows me, but did I ever know 
her?" and she could not answer these questions. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“the unexpected" happens. 

“ It is the unexpected that always happens," Lord 
Rollamore assented gravely. “ I’ve never contemplat- 
ed her death happening before my own for an instant. 
Poor woman ! I wish with all my heart, I'd never met 


“ THE UNEXPECTED ” HAPPENS. 163 

her. The end of her life would have been far happier 
in that case.” 

‘‘The end of it isn’t far off now,” Doctor Sheffield 
said, quietly. He had never liked Lady Rollamore, and 
he had no pangs of conscience on account of his treat- 
ment of her. Consequently he could regard the pros- 
pect of her speedy demise with indifference. 

“ I hope she has taken care of May ? She has threat- 
ened several times to endow asylums for idiots and 
cats, and decrepit monkeys, but I hope they were only 
threats, and that the bulk of her wealth will go to her 
daughter,” Lord Rollamore remarked questioningly. 

He knew that Doctor Sheffield had been called upon 
to witness two codicils to Lady Rollamore’s will since 
he had been in professional attendance on that unfor- 
tunate lady. It occurred to him that probably some- 
thing might have leaked out with regard to the disposi- 
ton of her property, and for May’s sake he was anxious 
to hear that she had not acted unjustly at the last. 
“For myself, thank heaven I don’t need her money 
now, nor do I want it,” he added, as Doctor Sheffield 
made no reply, but continued to gaze at him calmly. 

“I think Lady Rollamore’s will will surprise most 
people,” he said, presently. “Iam not able to offer 
you even a hint of its contents, but — it surprised me 
when she told me what she had done. Had she lived 
she would have altered it, I am sure, but she will never 
recover consciousness now. The last codicil was made 
out immediately after her last visit to that Madame 
Roche.” 

“ Ghastly woman ! ” Lord Rollamore said slowly. 

“ Meaning Madame Roche ? ” 

“Meaning Madame Roche. I get notes from her 
two or three times a week, promising me wonderful in- 
formation concerning myself if I will only call upon 


1 64 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


her. I know quite enough about myself. This woman 
probably only wants to trade upon something she may 
have learnt relative to my unfortunate mother. She 
looks to me like a woman who would levy blackmail/' 

“ She certainly affects people unpleasantly. My 
wife’s mother, Mrs. Maunders, seems to me to be under 
the fascination of terror regarding Madame Roche. 
Mrs. Maunders loses presence of mind, and becomes 
frightened and inconsequent directly this stranger 
comes near her. 

As he spoke, the butler opened the door hurriedly to 
tell the doctor that the “ nurses had sent for him 
then, addressing his master, he added, “ Madame 
Roche is in the morning-room. She says it is import- 
ant that she sees you at once, my lord.” 

Unwilling, with a barely-suppressed growl at the 
inopportune nature of this call. Lord Rollamore went 
to the meeting with the woman whom he had system- 
atically avoided during’ the past six months of her resi- 
dence in Caddleton. His antipathy to her was so strong 
that he felt himself turning pale as he came into her 
presence. 

She, on her part, was higher-colored than usual, 
under the influence of some strong excitement with 
which she was evidently battling hardly. 

“You have chosen an inopportune time for insisting 
upon an interview with me,. Madame Roche,” he 
began coldly. “Lady Rollamore is dangerously ill — ” 

“ I know that — I know all that,” she interrupted tem- 
pestuously. “ If I had not known that she was dying, 
if I had not known that at latest, in a few days, at the 
reading of her will, the truth concerning us would be 
made public, I should not be here now.” 

“The truth concerning — us R” he repeated wonder- 
ingly. 


“ THE UNEXPECTED” HAPPENS. 165 

“The truth concerning you and me, Lord Rolla- 
more.” 

She had come close to him, and now she lifted her 
hands and placed them on his shoulders, as she bent 
her face nearer to his. It had been a handsome face 
once, but it was bloated and lined with the impress of 
various unrestrained passions and indulgences now, 
and riddled with paint and powder. It struck no chord 
in his memory. Nevertheless, he felt himself turning 
sick with apprehension as he gazed back into the bril- 
liant eyes, out of which the light of purity and womanly 
dignity had fled long ago. 

For a few moments they stood thus, she searching 
every feature and lineament of his face unblushingly, 
he looking back at her with such repugnance in his 
eyes that her gorge rose, and, with a gesture of anger 
and a grating, false laugh, she pushed him from her. 

“First of all, I will tell you some truths concerning 
your later years, Lord Rollamore,” she began mock- 
ingly. “You stooped to lie to and fawn upon that 
poor dying woman when you thought you would be 
plain Francis White all your life. And when you 
found you w T ere Lord Rollamore, you would have cast 
her off. Oh! /don’t blame you foi that! it’s only 
what might have been expected, by the most short- 
sighted, of this son of your father ! Then you came 
here and treated the woman you had married for her 
money so carelessly that she cut you out of her will. 
Don’t shrug your shoulders — her money may be need- 
ful to you yet ! ” 

“With your permission I will close this interview, 
madame.” 

“But without my permission you shall not do it, 
insolent!” she cried, in extreme w T rath. “I come 
here to spare you, to prepare you, to save you from 


1 66 


THE KI LB URNS. 


being- confounded by a great surprise, and you treat 
me as dirt under your noble feet. You shall listen to 
me still, you shall listen till I have told you the story 
of yourself ! And then we shall see ! Not contented 
with ruining your prospects with your wife, you 
insulted the memory of your mother by your open 
friendship with the woman who succeeded her, who 
wore the title and held the place which should have 
been hers ! ” 

“You shall not insult the memory of my mother by 
pleading so falsely for it,” he said, hotly. 

Then again she looked at him with her bold, search- 
ing, mocking gaze, and again that sense of horrible 
repulsion stole over him. 

“I have not much more to say about the present,” 
she returned haughtily. “You have shown yourself a 
weak fool throughout, Francis White. You are show- 
ing yourself a weak fool now in doing all the honor 
you can to the widow and family of the late Lord 
Rollamore, and in slighting and spurning me” 

He made a step towards the bell, but she intercepted 
him. * 

“You would order your servant to show me the 
door, would you ? ” she asked,, in a fury. Then, as he 
fell back discomfited vaguely by something in her 
excited angry face, which was not called forth by the cir- 
cumstances, she added, “ Yet not such a fool as I am. 
7, to expect kindness or common courtesy from one of 
your father’s blood ! /, to expect justice or humanity 

from a man who thinks he does not need me ! ” 

“ You rave like a mad woman, and waste time,” he 
said coldly ; “if you have anything reasonable to say 
to me, say it, and go ! ” 

She collected herself, and became unnaturally calm 
in a moment 


“ THE UNEXPECTED” HAPPENS. 167 

“ I raved like a mad woman — did I ? ” she said, in a 
low voice ; “ you’re all alike ! — all alike ! You madden 
a woman by your scorn and cruelty, and when she 
cries out in her pain, you tell her she ‘ raves like a mad 
woman.’ Well, 1 have this more to say to you. Have 
you a heart of stone in you that you can’t feel that 1 
could tell you of your mother and her fate ? ” 

‘'Heaven knows I’ve a heart of lead in me, but if 
you can tell me what really became of my mother, you 
will find me a grateful listener, however painful the 
recital may be to me.” 

“If I told you that your mother was in want and 
misery, in degradation and hopelessness, what then ? ” 

“ God helping me, I’d go to her at once and give her 
hope again,” he said, eagerly. 

“What if I tell you a brighter tale than that, my — 
my brave lad ! ” she cried, agitatedly ; “ what if I tell 
you that she is well, prosperous — that she can hold up 
her head in the world, taking no shame to herself for 
the folly that was forced upon her? What if I tell you 
that your mother has it in her to help you more than 
you can help her, that she can make you or mar you, 
according as you treat her.” 

Again she had approached him closely. Again she 
had put her hands on his shoulders. Again she was 
peering into his face, with the look that revolted him. 
He knew now that some terrible revelation — something 
worse than he ever imagined — was to be made to him. 

“ My mother is alive, then ? ” he gasped. 

“Alive, well, and hearty, and able and willing to act 
a mother’s part — to share her fortunes, and (they are 
large) with you,” she cried hilariously. Then he 
knew what was coming, and, though he shrank back 
and covered his face, he could not shut out the con- 


1 68 


THE KI LB URNS. 


viction that she was speaking the truth, the painful 
humiliating truth, when she said, — 

“ Look at me ! Come to me ! I have the right to 
bid you leave those Kilburns — that Lady Rollamore 
who took my place. I have the right , but I ask you, 
in all affection, to come to me and own me.” 

“ Why ? What right ? " he gasped out. 

“The right that belongs to your mother, ” she said, 
distinctly. “ I have forfeited other claims, but never 
that. I am your mother/' 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MRS. ROCHE ASSERTS HERSELF. 

“ Miss Torrens wants you, my lord, at once/' 

It was Lady Rollamore's own maid who burst in at 
this moment upon the mother and son, and Lord Rolla- 
more almost blessed the summons as he freed himself 
from the clasp of the woman who had just announced 
herself to be his “mother," and went out in response 
to May's call. 

May met him at the door of Lady Rollamore’s bed- 
room. The girl was crying quietly, but her voice was 
steady and her manner calm. She held her hand out 
to him in a more friendly spirit than she had ever 
shown before. 

“ Don't go in," she said, quietly ; “ it is my fault for 
not having sent for you before- — you are too late to see 
my dear mother alive/' 

“ You have never liked me very well, nor have I de- 
served that you should do so, May," he said, taking her 
hand and leading her away to a window-seat at the end 
of the long corridor ; “still, I think you will feel a cer- 


MRS. ROCHE ASSERTS HERSELF. 169 

tain sort of pity for me now. You have just lost your 
mother — I have had a heavier blow — I have found mine 
— found her in Mrs. Roche ! ” 

“ It can't be true — it's too bad to be true ! " May said 
impulsively. Then he told her how he had been claimed 
as the son of the woman against whom his whole soul 
had been in revolt from the day he had first seen her. 

“ She is in the house now," he went on ; “ I feel she 
is telling the truth — I know she is my mother. What a 
mother ! If she had been poor, humbled, scorned and 
shamed, I would have given her comfort, and loved her 
as a son should ; but she is rich, boastful, arrogant and 
defiant. She is my mother ; pity me, May, and help 
me to be kind to her, will you ? " 

All his affectations had taken wing, and left him a 
thoroughly natural, humiliated man. May's generous 
heart responded to his appeal for help in a genuine way. 

“ I wish Fergus were here," she said, simply ; “ he 
would be such a help to you. As he's not here, I'll send 
for Gilbert. Either of those boys will know exactly 
what you ought to do, and will help you to do it. They 
won't forget that they're your brothers, you know." 

“ You are good," Lord Rollamore said, gratefully. 
“ I suppose I ought to ask her to come here ? I want 
to do what is natural and right ; must I ask her here, 
May?" 

“ Gilbert shall come and help you. Lord Rollamore, 
I am sure you will do what is right about your mother, 
but still Gilbert and Fergus are your brothers, and 
they’ll help to make ‘ right ' easier for you than it will 
seem if you are alone. Your mother, Mrs. Roche, 
won’t think I ought to go to her now? I would do any- 
thing to help you, but she won’t expect me now” 

The girl had been speaking steadily up to this point. 
Now she broke down. 


THE KI LB URNS. 


170 

“ Poor mamma ! ” she sobbed. “ I want to go away 
and think of her as she was when I was a little girl, be- 
fore my father died. I'll write to Gilbert, though, and 
tell him to come to you/' she added reassuringly, and 
then she went away, and Lord Rollamore was alone 
once more in a sea of doubt. 

He dreaded returning again to the woman who had 
avowed herself to be his mother ; and he dreaded even 
more leaving her to her own devices in his house till 
checked by his presence. That she was daring and de- 
fiant he had discovered. That she might prove vin- 
dictive unless she were very cautiously dealt with, he 
feared. That there was much in her career which it 
would be well to conceal from the censorious eyes of 
society, he felt convinced. At the same time, if she 
was his mother, he would never fail in respect towards 
her himself, and would strive to enforce it from others. 

How his heart yearned now towards his good, gen- 
tle, kindly, high-bred stepmother. How gladly he 
would have resigned the elder sonship and title to have 
the younger Kilburns’ proud right to call her “ mother ” ! 
Every step of his social and domestic life would be en- 
compassed with difficulties if this person who called 
herself “ Madame Roche/' and claimed him as her son, 
insisted upon remaining near him and clogging his 
career. If it had not been for her, what a vista of possi- 
ble happiness was opened to him by his wife's unex- 
pected death ! He was free to go to Valerie Heath, in 
honor now, ready to fight any social battle on her be- 
half if people were disposed to look askance at his wife. 
But, hampered by such a mother, the fight would be a 
terribly unequal one. “ Her friendship, if she gave it, 
would be detrimental to poor Valerie,” he thought 
gloomily, and he was just thinking that at least he 
would never live under the same roof with Mrs. Roche, 


MRS. ROCHE ASSERTS HERSELF , , 


171 

when the housekeeper came to him flurried and in un- 
dignified haste. 

“ I am sorry to disturb your lordship/' she began, her 
voice quivering with suppressed indignation, “ but I’ve 
had the most extraordinary orders, aad I must hear from 
you whether I'm to obey them or not." 

“What are they, Mrs. Jennings?" he asked impa- 
tiently. 

“The person who lives at Caddleton Villa has given 
orders to have a suite of rooms prepared for her here at 
once. She sent for me, and, when I hesitated, she 
stamped her foot at me, and said, ‘ I should soon know 
who was mistress here,' and that ‘Lord Rollamore 
wouldn't dare to countermand her orders ! It can’t 
be, my lord, that you will allow such a person to come 
and rule here, though my late lady did take up with 
her?" 

Lord Rollamore almost groaned. The story, in all its 
ugly nakedness, must soon be known to all men, he 
knew, but he shrank from being the one to tell it to his 
own household. 

“ I think you had better do as Mrs. Roche desires," he 
said feebly. “As you say, she was a great friend of 
your late mistress ; and I should like — I should wish 
that every attention is paid to her — her orders." 

“ His lordship must be dotty," was the verdict on 
this extraordinary conduct in the servants' hall. He had 
let one old woman, whom he didn't like, marry him ; 
and now he was allowing another, whom he had seemed 
to hate, to come and take possession of his house. 
Very grudgingly indeed did Mrs. Jennings give orders 
for the preparation of a boudoir, bedroom, and dressing- 
room in the east wing for the reception of “that Ma- 
dame Roche." When they were prepared, Madame 
Roche wouldn't occupy them. 


172 


THE KILE URNS. 


* 4 1 must have the rooms in the south front — the ones 
that were newly furnished when the late Lord Rolla- 
more brought his family down the last time/’ she said 
authoritatively. ‘ ‘ I have heard about them from my poor 
friend who is lying dead upstairs. They are the hand- 
somest rooms in the house, and they shall be mine — 
mine as soon as I choose, and for as long as I choose 
— and, if Lord Rollamore objects, I will see him and 
remove his objection ! ” 

He groaned again when he heard this, but still, as 
she had refrained from proclaiming herself to his ser- 
vants, he offered no opposition to her autocratic will. 
It would be time enough to combat that when the worst 
was known. While the worst could be concealed, her 
most exasperating caprices should remain undisputed. 

So that day passed. Gilbert had not replied to May’s 
summons, the fact being that he was away at Kings- 
bridge for a few days on Lord Rollamore’s business. 
An exorbitant rent had been offered by an enterprising 
returned colonial for a piece of land at Salcombe, which 
had belonged to the Kilburns for generations. Waste 
land it had been up to the present time, but the colonial 
saw in it unbounded possibilities when he should have 
erected that mammoth hotel and boarding-house, which 
would dwarf every other building of the kind in the west 
country. 

At the dreary eight o’clock dinner that night, May did 
not make her appearance, but, to his horror, Mrs. Roche 
did, clad quite neatly in trailing garments of the most 
sombre shades of black silk. 

“ I shall have proper mourning for my daughter-in- 
law down from Jay’s in a day or two : in the meantime, 
you’ll excuse there being no crape about this, won’t 
you ? ” she whispered to her son, who turned faint and 


MRS. ROCHE ASSERTS HERSELF . 


173 

sick as he marked the effect the whisper had on his 
servants. 

It was a miserable meal. Her policy was to force 
him to declare the relationship between them, and this 
he was fixedly resolved not to do until he had seen Gil- 
bert, and drawn out with him a plan of his future course 
of proceedings with regard to his relations with his 
mother. Meantime, though scrupulously polite to her, 
he held aloof from all her demonstrations of affection, 
and managed, by dint of preserving a stony silence, to 
check her garrulity during dinner. 

But, as soon as the servants had left the room, she 
forced him from his stronghold of quietude by saying, — 

<( How long is this ridiculous state of things to last, 
Rollamore ? I have been patient for years, but now — 
now that you my son, are in possession of your birth- 
right, I look to you to acknowledge and defend the 
position of your mother . y 

He could not tell her in so many words that she had 
forfeited that position years ago, when he was an infant. 
But he remembered it, and she saw that he did so, and 
was infuriated accordingly. 

“Is it for you —yon, my own child, to cast my — my 
follies in my teeth ? ” she asked intemperately. “I 
was not a worm. I would not be crushed by Gilbert 
Kilburn. He was not Lord Rollamore in those days, 
but I took care that you should be. I regarded your 
interests ; there was never a doubt in the lawyer's mind 
that you were the heir, and not this young Gilbert 
Kilburn, whom I hate. I took care of you, ah, I took 
care of your interests. ” 

“The law would have taken care of them,” he mut- 
tered. 

“The law! that for the law.” She snapped her 
fingers and laughed odiously. “Some day I may tell 


174 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


you all I did for you, but not now — not yet. I kept 
my eye on you always. I have known many changes 
since Gilbert Kilburn drove me from my place." 

She bowed her head down into her hands, and wept 
stormily for a few moments ; then she pulled herself up 
into an aggressively erect position, and recommenced. 

“There are some things you shall know about 
me, whether the hearing them is pleasant to you or 
not." 

“Spare me yet awhile," he murmured; “the whole 
surprise has been sprung upon me so suddenly — " 

“That your aristocratic nerves can’t stand it? You , 
Lord Rollamore, have no real pluck in you. The de- 
scendant of a hundred barons, you’re as great a coward 
as if you had been the son of a low-bred loafer and 
scoundrel." 

“You ought to make allowances for my deficiencies," 
he said wearily, smiling faintly. “I had not many 
advantages in my youth, remember. Cast off and de- 
serted as I was by both my parents, you mustn’t be 
surprised if I fail in the attributes and traditions of my 
race." 

She gave him a quick, startled glance. 

“I hate to hear you volunteering for the lower place. 
What makes you do it ? " she asked quickly. 

“Did I volunteer for a lower place? I am uncon- 
scious of having done so." 

“You did. You spoke of your deficiencies." 

“You yourself had just accused me of want of 
pluck," he interrupted quietly, “and you were good 
enough to add that, for all I showed to the contrary, I 
might be the son of a lowbred loafer and scoundrel. 
After hearing such a description of myself from 4 my 
mother," what wonder if I take a ‘lower place?" I 
will go to the drawing-room. You will not find Miss 


“ SILENCE WAS CRUEL .” 


175 

Torrens there to-night. You will excuse her?” he 
asked hastily. 

“Certainly I will. I am at home, remember, Rolla- 
more,'* she answered, smiling artificially as she passed 
him at the door. “ In my son's house I am at home ? v 

She put it in the form of a question, and he answered 
in the same spirit. 

“You have the right to feel at home in your son's 
house — a right which I shall always respect. But we, 
both of us, seem out of place here.” 

She wheeled round sharply as she was passing out of 
the room, and put her hand on his shoulder, fastening 
her eager, piercing eyes keenly on his the while. 

“You are a better man than your father was,” she 
said, with a sob. Then she almost ran from the room, 
trailing her heavy skirts alo.ig after her with the sound 
of a great rustling, as of an autumnal vengeance. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ SILENCE WAS CRUEL.” 

Mrs. Maunders and Florence were spending what 
was called in Caddleton “a nice, quiet evening” with 
Mrs. Sheffield. It was the married daughter's greatest 
social delight to get her own nearest kith and kin to 
spend several hours in her thoroughly comfortable, 
handsomely-furnished house whenever she was what 
she pathetically called “ all alone of an evening ; ” that 
is, whenever the doctor had one of his frequent sum- 
mons to go several miles into the country to attend a 
patient whose illness might detain him indefinitely for 
a longer period than his wife cared to spend alone. 

The three ladies had dined cosily together, and had 


THE K I LB URNS. 


I 76 

got themselves back into the drawing-room, with the 
lamp between them, and their chairs drawn into pleas- 
ant proximity to the fire. The whole aspect of the 
room was cheery and inspiriting. Doctor Sheffield had 
allowed it to remain empty until he married, and then 
he had given his young bride free permission to furnish 
it as she pleased, within the limits of a certain liberal 
sum which he named. Kathleen had shown herself quite 
deserving of the trust which he had reposed in her. 
She had not gone headlong into a furnishing establish- 
ment and ordered a roomful of monotonously correct 
articles ; but she had exercised taste and judgment, 
research and discrimination, in the selection of the 
household goods. The result was harmonious to a 
degree that gagged criticism, even from the conventional, 
to a certain extent. 

These evenings with her married daughter were 
among the greatest pleasures of Mrs. Maunders’s quiet 
life. She did not belong to that order of mother-in-law 
which delights in asserting its right to be “ at home” 
in a son-in-law’s house. Still, though she did not do 
this in thought, word, or deed, she had a very com- 
fortable feeling of being thoroughly at ease whenever 
she passed Doctor Sheffields portals. He treated her 
invariably with even a greater amount of deferential 
attention than she received from her own daughter, it 
seemed sometimes. This, though it gratified her, also 
puzzled her at times. It was as though he felt that she 
required extra gentle treatment for some reason or 
other. Not being an invalid, and not having any crime 
on her conscience, the extra gentleness shown to her, 
though extremely welcome, was a trifle perplexing. 

“ Ned is so sorry he can’t be at home to-night, as 
you re here, mother dear,” Mrs. Sheffield had said more 
than once during dinner, and now that they had settled 


“ SILENCE WAS CRUEL" 1 77 

to their evening’s work and chat over the fire in the 
drawing-room, she repeated her remark. 

“Is he over at Parkventon still ? ” Florence asked. 

It was the evening of the day on which Lady Rolla- 
more had died, and all Caddleton was busy canvassing 
the event. 

“I think not,” his wife replied; “he came away 
when it was all over, you know ; but then his other 
patients had to be attended to — his usual morning 
round done in the afternoon, you see. Poor Ned ! 
he'll not have any dinner till between ten and eleven 
o’clock. ” 

“ I wonder he doesn’t get indigestion,” Florence re- 
marked. “ He can’t, though, for his complexion keeps 
so white, and pink, and nice.” 

“ I’m sure it doesn’t,” his wife replied indignantly. 
“ Flo speaks as if Ned looks like a barber’s block, and 
he doesn’t a bit, does he, mamma ? ” 

“I should never say that a barber’s block looked 
‘nice,’ and I do think your Ned one of the very best- 
looking men I ever saw, Kathleen, so please don’t 
quarrel with my idle words,” Florence said, laughingly. 
“ The fact is, the words were very idle, for I was think- 
ing all the time of Lord Rollamore, and of what he will 
do now that poor wife of his is dead.” 

Mrs. Maunders stopped knitting, and tapped her chin 
thoughtfully with one needle as she listened to her 
married daughter’s reply. 

“ I didn’t get much information from Ned when he 
came back from Parkventon. I asked him if Lord 
Rollamore seemed cut up at all by his wife’s death, and 
he said/ ‘No, why should he be?’ Men pretend to be 
heartless; you know, sometimes, mother.” 

“ Probably Doctor Sheffield meant what he said ; it 
would have been rather unnatural if Lord Rollamore 

12 


THE KI LB URNS. 


1 78 

had been ‘ cut up ’ by his wife’s death, considering 
what that wife was,” Florence interposed. 

“ Is any one with poor Miss Torrens, I wonder ? ” 
Mrs. Maunders questioned sympathetically. 

“ You’ll be surprised to hear who is there — not with 
Miss Torrens, but as a sort of familiar family friend. 
Try to guess, mother. Who shoul&you think, Flo ? ” 

“ Old Lady Rollamore, probably,” Florence sug- 
gested. “ She’s like all the rest of the Kilburns, good- 
ness and kindness itself.” 

“ Not Lady Rollamore,” Mrs. Sheffield replied, shak- 
ing her head triumphantly. “But you’ll never guess 
— how should you ? When Ned told me, I said it 
couldn’t be — it couldn’t, you know. But he said he 
heard her giving orders to the housekeeper about 
having a suite of rooms arranged for her. Such a 
thing, isn’t it ? There must be something very odd, 
mustn’t there ? ” 

“ You’ve forgotten that you haven’t told us who the 
astounding guest is,” Florence said, remindingly. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you, because mamma and you might 
go on guessingfrom now till midnight, and you’d never 
hit on the right person. It does seem as if there was 
to be no end to the mysteries in the Kilburn family. 
I’m sure, when poor Gilbert was turned out of his in- 
heritance by this new man, I thought I could never 
feel surprised again about anything. Didn’t you, Flo ? 
Oh, I forgot ! I didn’t mean to hurt you by referring 
to him , Flo dear, you know that. But this last surprise 
is too astounding altogether, now, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Will you remember that you haven’t told us yet 
who the untoward guest is ? ” Florence asked, with 
good-humored, exaggerated patience. “ Mother and I 
are longing to be surprised and mystified — aren’t we, 
mother ? ” 


“ SILENCE WAS CRUEL.” 


179 


“ Well, mamma, " Kathleen resumed eagerly, “ what 
will you say when I tell you it’s your own tenant at 
the villa — that flashy, bold-looking ‘ Madame ’ Roche, 
as she calls herself — ” 

The knitting dropped from Mrs. Maunders’s helpless, 
trembling hands. 

“ That woman at Parkventon, now that Lady Rolla- 
more is dead ? ” she faltered out. 

Kathleen nodded assentingly. 

“ I thought — that is, Tve heard it gossipped — that 
Lord Rollamore would never know her, in spite of his 
wife’s intimacy with her ? 

“ No more he would,” Mrs. Sheffield explained, with 
the proud air of one in possession of fuller knowledge 
than her audience. “ No more he would ! but now 
she evidently means to establish herself at Parkventon, 
for Ned heard her giving orders about her rooms ! I 
asked Ned what it all meant ; and he only shook his 
head, and told me stranger things than have happened 
yet may happen soon.” 

“ Ned is rather given to shaking his head and being 
oracular,” Florence was remarking smilingly, when the 
attention of both girls was attracted to their mother. 
Mrs. Maunders had turned her face to the back of the 
high chair in which she was seated, and concealed it 
with her hands, but they saw that her whole frame was 
shaken with sobs. 

4 ‘ Mother ! mother dearest ! what is it ? ” they cried in 
alarm, and at length she told them. 

“I have dreaded that woman ever since she came 
into the place, not knowing whom she was. Now I 
know — I feel whom she is, and I dread her still more. 
Poor Lord Rollamore ! He had better have remained 
obscure Francis White all his life, for Madame Roche 
is—” 


i8o 


THE KI LB URNS. 


The words that were almost on her lips died away 
on her tongue unspoken. She had faced round to her 
daughters as she was speaking the last words, but it 
was not at them she was looking. The door had 
opened, and Doctor Sheffield had come into the room. 

“ Hush ! ” he was saying, holding up a silence-com- 
manding hand. “ Not a word more, dear Mrs. Maun- 
ders. Leave Madame Roche to fight her own battles, 
and tell her own story. Kathleen, dear, can I have a 
basin of soup ? I’m sent for by Mrs. Ruther at Glass- 
hill farm, and she means business till to-morrow morn- 
ing, I fancy. Lord Rollamore has sent for Mr. Kil- 
burn,” he went on, addressing Florence casually. 
“ Mr. Kilburn will be his best friend and adviser in 
some untoward circumstances that may arise.” 

Florence flushed with pleasure at the implied praises 
of the man she loved. 

“Is Lord Rollamore in any difficulty? You speak 
as if he had some other trouble hanging over him be- 
sides the death of his wife.” 

“ To be quite candid, that last is not much of a trou- 
ble ; there are worse things coming for him, Fm afraid. ” 
Saying which, with another grave shake of his head, 
which might portend anything or nothing, Doctor 
Sheffield got himself out of the room without betraying 
that he knew little more of the nature of the breakers 
ahead of Lord Rollamore than they did themselves. 

“ I’ll go and see that he has his soup comfortably,” 
Kathleen whispered hurriedly, as she fled after him. 

Then Florence turned to her mother, and took her 
hand with a strong, comforting hand-clasp that was 
worth any amount of emotional wordy sympathy. 

“ Dear mother,” she said kindly, “ I have often felt 
that you had something to worry you that you wanted 
to keep from us, because you wouldn’t have us worried 


“ SILENCE WAS CRUEL.” 


1 8 1 


too. But I can bear anything with you, mother dear, 
indeed I can ! Will you tell me why this woman, who 
calls herself Madame Roche, distresses you ? ” 

“She is the dead come to life again, Florence,” Mrs. 
Maunders said* brokenly. “Before you were born — 
before I ever saw your father — I believed she was 
dead — ” 

“Who is she ? ” 

“The late Lord Rollamore’s first wife— the mother of 
the present Lord Rollamore ! Florence, it was awful 
to me to fear it — -to dread it in doubt — as I did that day 
I met her down by the river ! But it’s more awful still 
to have the conviction forced upon me that it’s true, as 
I have, now I hear she has forced herself into Parkven- 
ton.” 

“Lord Rollamore’s mother ! ” Florence said medita- 
tively. “She is not a good woman, then, mother ?” 

“ She was weak, weak — more than wicked,” Mrs. 
Maunders faltered. “She sinned against her husband 
and her son, and I believed, till lately, that she had expi- 
ated her offence in sorrow and suffering, and by death. 
But I have been deceived by her, as others had been 
before me.” 

“She must be wicked rather than weak to have de- 
ceived you,” Florence said, hotly. “What was she to 
you ? Why should you care about her ? Why should 
her weakness or wickedness affect or distress you, 
mother?” 

“She is my cousin — we were girls together. I was 
so proud of her when we were young ! I was the only 
one in the secret when she married Gilbert Kilburn. I 
was the one to take charge of her little boy when she 
left him.” * 

“You took charge of her boy — of the one who is 
Lord Rollamore now ? Where was his father? Were 


I 82 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


you friendly with his father, or did you take the child 
from him? Oh, mother, it is interesting! Your being 
mixed up with the Rollamore romance is too extraor- 
dinary a thing altogether for me to quite grasp it yet. 
Did you know the old Lord Rollamore well? ” 

“ Too well ! ” Mrs. Maunders sighed faintly. 

“ Then all the time that Gilbert Kilburn — my Gilbert 
— was being passed off as the heir, you must have 
known better ? ” 

“ The secret burdened my otherwise happy life, 
Florence.” 

“Oh, you should have told him; you should have 
warned him ! how could you let such a secret be kept 
from him all those years, poor boy, when a word from 
you might have spared him such a blow as that which 
fell upon him when his father died? You should have 
told him, mother, silence was cruel.” 

“ I was bound to silence, Florence. I can’t tell you, 
lean never make you understand what strong pressure 
was put upon me. Besides, I wanted to forget, my 
child, even if I hadn’t been bound to silence and 
secrecy, I wanted to forget — I prayed to be allowed to 
forget. ” 

Her voice had got very low, and she seemed as if she 
were speaking to herself. 

“ A ghost from the past is haunting her,” Florence 
thought. “If she would trust me, and let me help her 
to lay it, how much happier we should be.” 


A PARTIAL REVELATION. 


183 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A PARTIAL REVELATION. 

The woman who carried herself with such coarse 
defiance in the presence of others — especially of that 
other whom she claimed as her son — deported herself 
very differently when she was alone. 

At night, when she took off her bright hair and com- 
plexion, removed the dark shadows from under her 
eyes, and the pearly teeth from their place, behind the 
lips that laid by their rosiness until the morrow ; at 
night, when she did all these things, she subsided at 
once into a care-worn, shaky old woman. Deprived 
of these artificial aids to self-confidence, Mrs. Roche 
collapsed supinely. Her form, when taken out of her 
well-padded and shaped corset, was seen at once to 
have lost all its rounded proportions and graceful curves. 
Her head was nearly bald. There were deep wrinkles 
on her forehead, and round her toothless mouth. Her 
eyes looked out blearingly from their red-rimmed sock- 
ets. The very voice of the woman changed ! She 
mouthed and mumbled, and the efforts of the day 
revenged themselves upon her, now that the day was 
over, and the necessity for making the efforts done 
with, by leaving her nerveless, uncertain in movement, 
and almost incapable of continuous thought. 

She had secured those rooms in the south front which 
had been refurnished by the late Lord Rollamore for 
his wife on the occasion of their coming home to live at 
Parkventon, and make that “ spirt ” which he had hoped 
would result in wealthy marriages for his sons. At the 


THE KI LB URNS. 


184 

cost of a bitter contest with Mrs. Jennings, the house- 
keeper, she had secured these rooms, and now she was 
not happy in them. Twice or thrice she had sent mes- 
sages to her son Lord Rollamore, demanding his pres- 
ence, and each time he had sent back an excuse. There 
was something she had to tell him which was begin- 
ning to frighten her. To frighten her in spite of her 
knowing that none other than herself was in the secret, 
consequently, that none other than herself could ever 
tell him the truth. Still, though she was afraid of what 
he might say and do in his wrath when he heard it, she 
determined on revealing it to him. So, once more, on 
the eve of the funeral of the late Lady Rollamore, Mrs. 
Roche sent once again for her son. 

She never committed herself to a verbal message, but 
always carefully wrote and sealed her notes. This 
night she wrote : — - 

“My dear Son, — For very dear you are to me, though 
you hold me at arm’s-length. Come to my rooms this 
evening. I have that to tell you which for your own 
sake you ought to hear before your wife’s will is read 
to-morrow, in order that you may not, when you hear 
it, act intemperately and ruin yourself. My one thought 
is for your aggrandizement and honor. For these I 
have striven from the day of your birth. For these I 
obliterated myself, and deprived myself of the joy the 
sight of you would have been to me all these years. 
For these' I ‘ sinned,’ maybe, at any rate I suffered. 
Let nothing keep you from me this night. 

“Your affectionate Mother.” 


“ Bring back Lord Rollamore’s answer to me at once 
— at once,” she said imperatively to the servant to whom 


A PARTIAL REVELATION . 185 

she gave her note. She had dined in her own room, 
for the nervous strain she had endured while coming 
to the determination to bare her story to her son, had 
unfitted her for the effort it would have been to sit at 
the table and exchange commonplaces with him and 
May. She had dressed herself well and carefully for 
the interview she was seeking. But she had taken off 
the rouge and washed out the eye-shadows, and thrown 
some black lace over the bright hair, which looked so 
uncomely on her old head. 

She waited anxiously, heart-sickeningly, for half-an- 
hour, sitting well in the lamp-light, resolving to let him 
see at once how old, and worn-out, and faded she was 
with life's struggles and conscience's pricks. Then she 
heard a step outside her door, and her heart stood still 
with the thought that she was on the brink of making 
the most momentous revelation of her life. 

It was only the servant come back to tell her that 
“his lordship was engaged with his brother, Mr. Kil- 
burn, and had left orders that he was not to be dis- 
turbed.'' 

She quivered with fury as she listened to the message, 
listened in silence and with an averted head, for she 
did not wish the servant to see the ravages her com- 
punction had made upon her eyes and complextion. 
When she was alone again, she rose and staggered over 
to the glass, and looked at herself ruthlessly. 

“ Ah ! " she shuddered, “ I shall never be able to do 
it again ! I look too hideous. To-night I would have 
shown him the truth. It is his own fault that he won't 
see it and hear it — fool that he is ! After to-night it will 
be too late to do him any good, but he prefers the 
society of his 'brother, Mr. Kilburn ! ' His brother! 
I could laugh at the sneakish idiotcy of it all — if I were 
not more inclined to cry. His ‘brother, Mr. Kilburn ! ' 


THE KI LB URNS. 


1 86 

He prefers his 'brother, Mr. Kilburn,' the son of the 
woman who stepped into my place, and enjoyed the 
wealth, and rank, and consideration that should have 
been mine ; he prefers the son of this woman to his 
mother ! Ungrateful, cowardly sneak that he is, after 
all I have done for him. I will crush him with the 
truth by letting the world hear it, instead of breathing 
it to him, and him only, as l would have done to-night. 
He is unnatural ! he hates and shrinks from his mother 
— from the mother who made him what he is.” 

She was wringing her hands and crying violently as 
she muttered out her sentences of wrath. Suddenly she- 
calmed herself, wiped the tears and their traces from 
her face, then placed candles on her dressing-table, and 
for an hour devoted herself to the art of make up. Then 
she dressed herself in black velvet, and a long sable 
cloak, and when she had arranged a veil with girlish 
tightness and precision over her face, she rang and 
ordered the brougham to be got ready for her at once. 

In twenty minutes she was being driven rapidly 
towards Caddleton, having given the brief order 
"Maunders” when she was stepping into the little 
carriage. 

Mrs. Maunders was alone when her unexpected and 
singularly unwelcome visitor arrived. Florence was 
out at her sister’s house. Mercifully, Florence was out ! 

Mrs. Maunders, rising from her seat by the fire in the 
little sitting-room behind the shop, stayed her hand on 
the back of her chair in a vain effort to steady herself. 
Her sweet, gentle face was sadly agitated. Her eyes, 
with something of recognition and more of fear in them, 
were fixed inquiringly on the striking-looking incomer. 
Her impulse was to run out of the room — away from the 
indefinable danger and mortification which encompassed 
her like an atmosphere whenever she found herself in 


A PARTIAL REVELATION, 


1 87 

Madame Roche’s presence. This night that atmosphere 
was intensified by the knowledge she had gained from 
Doctor Sheffield of Madame Roche’s real personality. 
Subduing her impulse as her unwelcome guest ap- 
proached her, she forced herself to speak. 

“ Why have you come ? Oh! why have you come ? ” 
she asked brokenly. 

“Why have I come? to make known my rights, and 
to claim them,” the other woman said undauntedly. 
“Come, Florence, cease this nonsensical evasion of 
me. You know who I am as well as I know who you . 
are, my dear, timid old cousin, ‘ timid ’ now in your 
maturity as you were when you were a slip of a girl. 
But, timid as you were then, you were fond of me, 
Florence. You never stood aloof from me then.” 

She held out her arms as she spoke, and Mrs. Maun- 
ders moved slowly forward, and let herself be em- 
braced. 

“Forgive me if I seem cold,” she said chokingly. 
“ Remember how your appearance has upset the belief 
of years. ” 

Madame Roche pushed her cousin from her, and 
shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 

“The belief of years, namely, that I was dead and 
had ceased from troubling, seems to have been a mighty 
pleasant one, Florence. You evidently like having it 
upset as little as my son does. He has not given his 
mother too warm a welcome, I assure you. There 
has been nothing in it that you need envy me.” 

“You are staying with — with Lord Rollamore ; he 
admits that you are his mother ? ” 

“He has conceded that point, my dear ? because he 
can’t help himself. I bring my credentials with me in the 
shape of papers that I have kept in many lands through 
wild wanderings. Besides, you can bear testimony to 


THE KI LB URNS. 


1 88 

the justice of my claims. You know that I was the late 
Lord Rollamore's wife? You rather grudged me the 
felicity of being Mrs. Gilbert Kilburn, if I remember 
rightly, for you had a pardonable weakness for the 
gentleman himself. I used to expect to hear that he 
had married you when he rid himself of me, but it 
seems he married a lady of high degree, with money, 
which has since vanished ! So she has been punished 
for taking my place/' 

“Have you come to tell me what you have been 
doing all these years ? " Mrs. Maunders asked unwill- 
ingly. 

“ Your matronly ears would tingle if I told you the 
tale," the other woman answered harshly. “Why 
should I tell you of my past? It has been full of ups 
and downs, but at last I have conquered fortune before 
fate has been able to conquer me. I am a rich woman ; 
I shall be a much richer one, for — now you'll be sur- 
prised — my son's wife has left all her money to me un- 
conditionally." 

“ To you ? " 

“Even so ! The will, which will be read after the 
funeral to-morrow, will astound every one. I won her 
heart and soul by sympathizing with her rage against 
the people, those Kilburns, who slighted her, and made 
much of her husband. I flattered her foibles, I planned 
her revenges, she lived long enough for my purpose, 
quite long enough, for the codicil which makes me in- 
herit everything of hers would have been revoked prob- 
ably in a day or two, if her husband had happened to 
please her. As it is, I come in for all her money, and 
this will give me enormous power over my son. If 
he sets himself in opposition to me, and still clings to 
those Kilburns, he will have a great fall, he will have 
such a fall as will break him to pieces," 


A PARTIAL REVELATION, . 189 

‘‘You talk like a mad woman/’ Mrs. Maunders said 
nervously. 

“You shall not hint that I am mad!” Madame 
Roche cried furiously. “ You shall not dare to suggest 
it. Was there any madness, do you think, in the 
method of my management of that poor old woman 
who is just dead ? Has there been madness in the self- 
control which has enabled me to efface myself to bide 
my time until I could insist on my son restoring me to 
that place from which my husband ousted me ? ” 

“ You are still impenitent. You still dwell more on 
his punishment than on your own sin.” 

“And you still take his part, though he is dead now, 
and can never reward your young, affectionate loyalty,” 
Madame Roche sneered. “You were always a fool, 
Florence ; time has not strengthened your character. 
I remarked that the day I terrified you so by the river. 
But, weak or strong, I claim you for my ally now. 
You shall tell every one you know, and every one who 
speaks to you about me, that I am the genuine Ma- 
dame Simon Pure, the real first wife of the laje Lord 
Rollamore, the true mother of the present one. ” 

“ I will say that, if I am called upon to say anything, 
thatai least is true,” Mrs. Maunders said, quietly ; then 
she added hastily, “go now, I hear my daughter com- 
ing in. I am not prepared to explain matters to her 
to-night. ” 

“I know you are afraid I shall say something unfit 
for her ears. No, Florence, I’m not so reckless or so 
cruel as to do that. Show me that you trust me. Tell 
your daughter now, to-night, that I am your cousin, 
and that we loved one another as sisters once.” 

“There will be so much else to tell in order to make 
the matter clear to her. Spare me the task to-night,” 
Mrs. Maunders pleaded, 


190 


THE KILE URNS. 


“ I choose to be acknowledged as your cousin, and 
introduced to her as Lord Rollamore’s mother to-night. 
I want my rights to be known. I long to have my 
position established. Think how long I have been 
defrauded of my rights ; think of how I have drifted 
about without any recognized position, and please me 
in this little matter to-night.” 

“The child will be so surprised. She is so unpre- 
pared for such a revelation.” 

“She is not a reed, to be shaken by every little wind 
like her mother. Your daughter looks a strong, capable 
girl.” 

“ Is Roche your real name ? ” Mrs. Maunders asked 
hesitatingly. 

“Do you mean, am I married to a man who bears 
that name ? ” 

.“That is what I meant.” 

“Then I can assuage your delicate alarms, my dear. 
To my sorrow I am married to Mr. Roche.” 

“Is he alive ? ” 

“To my greater sorrow he is,” Madame Roche said 
bitterly, “ and to my greatest sorrow of all he intends 
coming down and taking up his residence at Caddleton. 
We shall be a happy family when that event takes 
place, for I hate him as much as my son seems to hate 
me.” 

“He is not a — a good man, then, I’m afraid ? ” 

“ He is the greatest hypocrite that God ever per- 
mitted to cumber the earth,” Madame Roche burst 
forth ; “good ! no good man would have married me, 
but I did not, with all my faults, deserve to be linked 
to such a man as Mr. Roche. Ah ! but he is plausible. 
He will come here, and the people who turn up their 
noses at me will accept him and think well of him, and 
in return he will — ” 


A PARTIAL REVELATION. 


I 9 I 

“ What will he do ? " Mrs. Maunders asked, as her 
cousin paused abruptly. 

“I dare not say. He always seems to hear what is 
said of him sooner or later. So ! this is your daughter ! 
My cousin, how I envy you such a child." 

She moved swiftly towards Florence as she spoke, 
and made as though she would have embraced the 
erect young figure, that was so distinctly repellant in 
its attitude. On second thoughts, however, she deemed 
it advisable merely to extend her hand with well-ex- 
pressed heartiness. 

“ Did I hear you call my mother ‘ cousin' ?" the 
girl asked collectedly. 

“ You did. Do you object to the relationship, young 
lady ? ” 

“Not at all, as I know nothing about you, Madame 
Roche/' Florence answered, meeting Madame Roche's 
angry glances unflinchingly ; “ only I have heard 

already that you are Lord Rollamore's mother, and 
that you should also be related to us comes upon me as 
a surprise. " 

\ “ Not too pleasant a one, it seems ? " 

“Not too pleasant a one." 

“ You had better make friends with me, my daring 
young lady. Think, my son is a free man now, and 
he is Lord Rollamore ; secure my good offices for 
yourself with him, and give up wasting yourself in 
dreaming of Gilbert Kilburn — who pitied you." 

“You are very coarse, Madame Roche," was all 
Florence said, as she turned and left the room. 


192 


THE KI LB URNS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE SHADOW OF MR. ROCHE. 

Gilbert Kilburn’s first feeling when he heard of the 
affliction that had befallen Lord Rollamore was one of 
joyful relief. His second was of absolute contrition 
when he remembered how grievously and on what in- 
sufficient evidence he had condemned Mrs. Maunders 
and spoilt Florence’s life as well as his own for a 
time. 

After his first ejaculation of wonder and relief, he let 
his half-brother go on uninterruptedly to the end of 
what was palpably a gruesome story for him to tell. 

“ It was bad enough when I believed that Madame 
Roche was merely a time serving, manoeuvering hanger 
on of my poor wife’s. But to find that she is my 
mother, to think that she will be within her rights in 
asking for a home in my house ! Gilbert, will you see 
her for me? Will you put it to her that, if she has any 
natural feeling, she will understand that it is impossible 
I can take up the role of her son ? Our relations must 
inevitably always be of the most strained and unpleas- 
ant description if she persists in fixing herself down here 
to live. If she does, I declare 1 11 give up Parkventon 
and go to Central Africa or Iceland, of anywhere out. 
of her reach. She’s appalling to me, simply appalling ! 
She paints an inch thick on her cheeks and lips, and 
her eyes make me shudder. It will half break my heart 
to leave Parkventon and part with you, old boy, but, if 
she stays, I can’t.” 


THE SHADOW OF MR. ROCHE . 


l 93 

“ HI see what I can do* to-morrow. In time, if she 
is patient and sensible, your mother and you may come 
together to the greater happiness of you both, old fel- 
low. After all, you're bound to remember that she is 
your mother, under all circumstances.” 

Gilbert tried to speak reassuringly and cheerfully. 
The fact is, it was easy for him to do so. The relief he 
felt in finding that Mrs. Maunders was above suspicion 
and beyond reproach as regarded her relations with his 
father quite overbalanced any sensation of sympathetic 
chagrin which he might have felt for his half-brother in 
the discovery the latter had made that Madame Roche 
was his mother. 

“It wouldn't be quite so bad if she hadn't come 
down here and called herself 4 Madame' Roche.. Why 
4 Madame ? ' And who is Roche, I wonder ? Gilbert, 
it's an awful thing to be afraid to ask your own mother 
how she came by the name she sails under, and who 
the fellow is who bestowed it upon her. But I shall 
have to do it. I shall have to find out Roche, I sup- 
pose, and make myself pleasant to him.” 

“We'll hope he has stuff enough in him to keep your 
mother in order,” Gilbert said hopefully. 44 Of course 
you don't wish this affair kept dark from my mother ? 
Poor dear, she'll be a little shocked at finding herself 
within hail of her husband's first wife ; but she's such a 
sensible, brave, clear-headed woman, that she'll make 
the very best that is made of the situation.” 

44 Has she ever spoken to you about my parentage ? 
—has she ever conjectured who and what my mother 
might have been ? ” 

44 She has, but I haven't responded. The fact is, 
Rollamore, I've been nursing a stupid misconception 
for the last few months. I have made an imbecile mis- 
take — misjudged an excellent woman — and made the 

J 3 


194 


THE KILE UR NS. 


girl I love, and mean to marry , miserable as well as 
myself. " 

Then he told how Doctor Sheffield had found a mare's 
nest, and he (Gilbert) had accepted it and all its pos- 
sible consequences. 

“You'll soon make that crooked matter straight with 
Miss Maunders ? Lord Rollamore said interrogatively, 
whereat Gilbert shook his head rather glumly. In mak- 
ing this crooked matter straight with Florence, he might 
be compelled to confess to having thought such hard 
things of her mother that the girl would never forgive 
him. 

“ It will be a difficult business, but I shall do my 
best to get Florence to look at my hasty action in the 
best light." 

“ I don't envy you the task of telling her. Girls for- 
give a good many things in a fellow, though, if they 
feel he has loved them through thick and thin." 

“ I certainly have never wavered in my love for 
Florence, though I tried my hardest to stamp it out. It 
was too deep — it wouldn't be effaced." 

“ I hope I may be able to convince the girl I love 
that I've never wavered in my devotion to her, though 
I did marry another woman," Lord Rollamore said 
rather mournfully. Then he went on to tell Gilbert a 
little, but not all, about Valerie. 

“ She is a gentlewoman who has become a model, I 
presume ? " Gilbert asked. 

“Yes, that’s about it. Nothing very distinguished in 
the way of family, you know, but a lady-like, clever, 
able girl — quite capable of holding her own in any so- 
ciety, especially when she is Lady Rollamore. She 
was awfully fond of me — awfully ! " he went on plain- 
tively. “ But she was so enraged when she found I 
was going to marry for money, that I may find it 


THE SHADOW OF MR. ROCHE. 


195 


harder work to bring her round than I care to contem- 
plate. I shall go and see her as soon as I can get 
away. ” 

“Your late wife is to be buried to-morrow, I be- 
lieve?” Gilbert said remindingly ; “pardon me, old 
man, for interfering, but don’t do anything in such 
haste as to shock the county. Write to her, make your 
peace with her, secure her promise and give her yours, 
but do not do anything in such haste as to set people 
against her.’ 

“It is easy for you to counsel delay! you have no 
need to exercise patience in your own case,” Lord 
Rollamore answered, half-grumblingly, half-laughingly. 
But all the same he took Gilbert’s counsel to heart, and 
resolved to be guided by it in the matter of allowing a 
decent time to elapse before bringing home a new 
wife. 

When Gilbert left him that night, the master of the 
house went off to bed, and on his dressing-table he 
found that note which Madame Roche had sent to him 
earlier in the evening. 

“ Whatever she has to tell me more will keep very 
well till to-morrow,” he thought wearily. “She has a 
curious way of getting excited at night. Couldn’t 
stand an interview with her now.” 

When the morrow came, the dull, solemn, funereal 
function occupied him, and, on coming home after it ? 
he had to meet the lawyer and executors and hear the 
will read. 

It was a lengthy document, and a just one, he thought 
hastily, when the lawyer had nearly concluded the 
reading. With the exception of five hundred a year to 
her daughter May, everything was left to her “beloved 
husband, Francis White Kilburn, Lord Rollamore.” 

“But there is a codicil, I find,” said the lawyer, 


THE K I LB URNS. 


196 

"written in her own handwriting, duly witnessed by 
Dr. Sheffield and her daughter, May Torrens. This 
codicil will be rather a surprise to you, I fear, Lord 
Rollamore. By it she bequeaths the whole of her best 
property, with the exception of the aforesaid five hun- 
dred a year, to her dear friend Madame Roche. ” 

“And Madame Roche will restore it to her son,” 
that lady exclaimed, holding her hands out, theatrically, 
towards him. 

Thus it was that the fact of their relationship was 
made public. Thus it was that, at the outset, he was 
forced into ,the position of seeming to be cold and un- 
grateful to his mother, because he could not bring him- 
self to rapturously accept and thank her for her gener- 
ously, expressed intentions towards him. 

“For my own part, I am perfectly contented that 
you should be the sole one to benefit by my late wife’s 
will. I have enough of my own without depriving you 
of any portion of that which she must have wished you 
to have, or she would not have left it to you. But I’m 
sorry for you, May, for you and Fergus. I consider 
you have been shamefully treated.” 

He had been speaking coldly and formally till he ad- 
dressed the girl. Then his annoyance got the better of 
him, and he spoke with heat and emotion. 

“Your chief interest, even now, is for ‘Fergus! 
‘Fergus, indeed ! ’ ” Madame Roche cried, striking the 
arm of her chair with her clenched hand, and hurting 
the latter. “You care more for the woman who took 
the place from which I was unfairly ousted. You care 
more for that woman and her brood than you do for 
your own mother. You scorn my offer of enriching 
you, and, in the same breath — unnatural ! — you lament 
that Fergus is not enriched. ” 

“ This is scarcely seemly ; we had better not discuss 


THE SHADOW OF MR , ROCHE. 


197 

this subject, mother,” he said desperately, as May rose 
and made her way out of the room. 

“If my mention of these truths is ‘ unseemly/ don’t 
you goad me into stating them,” she retorted. “ Give 
up this intimacy with these Kilburns, which is an insult 
to me. I am your mother. I demand this sacrifice, if 
it is one, of you! If you will not make it for love of 
me, you may be compelled to make it one day, for I 
will not be insulted with impunity, even by my own 
son, Lord Rollamore ! ” 

She laid a taunting, mocking, emphasis on the last 
two words, and he, seeing that excitement, and per- 
haps wine, had robbed her of all self-control, gave the 
signal for this little party to disperse. As soon as the 
lawyer and Doctor Sheffield, who was one of the late 
Lady Rollamore's executors, had gone, she calmed 
down, and spoke more quietly. 

“We will quit this painful money subject for a time, 
my son ! In my anger I threatened harder things than 
I am capable of performing. Only be kind to me, only 
side with me against every one who is opposed to me, 
and I will enrich you with every fraction I possess, and 
guard your interests as I would my life.” 

“My interests are perfectly secure, thank you,” he 
said, coldly. 

“Are they? Ah, you think so, do you? I could 
topple them over like a house of cards ! ” she raved out, 
passing into fury again in indescribable and unreason- 
able haste. “Foolish woman that I am, to dream of 
winning affection and consideration from the son of 
your father ! But, if I cannot ‘win ’ it, I can, and will, 
command it ! ” 

“Do let us speak together like civilized beings, not 
like a couple of untutored, irresponsible savages,” he 
sighed. “ You compel me to seem what, Heaven 


THE KT LB UR NS. 


198 

knows, I've no desire to be, unfilialand undutiful to you. 
Let us speak of what it will be best for us both that we 
should do in the future. I wish to discuss the matter of 
your future residence with you, mother. You will feel 
with me that it will not be well you should live here. 
In time I shall bring home another wife — ” 

“And, pray, who may she be?” she interrupted, 
speaking with a forced composure that was ominous. 

“ A girl I knew and loved, and was cowardly enough 
not to marry, before I knew I was going to be what I 
am, and independent of the world,” he answered boldly. 
“I should have done well to have married her then, 
even if I had always remained plain Francis White, with 
little or nothing a-year. I shall do well to marry her 
now that I have both rank and fortune, for she loves me 
as I love her, and that's a great deal better than I 
deserve.” 

“ May I ask who this paragon is? ” 

“ Her name is Valerie Heath.” 

“And she is — ” 

^ “She is a good, hard-working, brave, dear girl — ” 

“ That’s a rambling statement, and not at all to the 
point, Lord Rollamore. Out with the truth ! What is 
my future daughter-in-law's present social status ? I 
hope, at last, there is going to be a Lady Rollamore 
who can show a clean record ! ” 

Her tone was so aggressive, that he forgot she was 
his mother, and only remembered that she was throw- 
ing a poisoned shaft at the good, gracious, widow lady, 
whom he had learnt to regard with such esteem that it 
almost amounted to affection. 

“My father's widow certainly has a clean record. 
She's one of the best and truest women that ever lived. 
Don’t assail her ! ' 

“Your ‘ father's ' widow ! ” she sneered. “Boy, you 


THE SHADOW OF MR. ROCHE. 


199 


drive me mad by holding up these people at every turn. 
What about this girl — this Valerie Heath ? What is she ? 
— nurse-maid, ballet-girl, barmaid — what ? ’’ 

“She’s an artist’s model, and she is good,” he said, 
sternly; “I won’t trust myself to say more about her 
now. ” 

She drove her finger-nails into the palms of her hands, 
and subdued an outbreak of temper. 

“Very well,” she said, briefly; “ we will say no more 
about her to-night. You give me to understand that 
you feel I have no right to be critical in my judgment 
about another, woman. I’ll let that insult pass, for I can 
make you apologize for it any day, if I like to exert my 
power. Now, hear something that affects me and my 
happiness, and 7ny peace of mind. An evil threatens 
me which you can help to avert. Mr. Roche, my hus- 
band, announces that he is coming here to .Caddleton, 
to either settle down with me, or take me away with him. 
Now, to be quite candid with you, I hate Mr. Roche, 
but — he holds a secret of mine, and if I do not entreat 
him courteously, and pay him liberally for his silence, 
he may injure us both — you, as well as me. You must 
be guided by me in your treatment of Mr. Roche, and 
as he is as thoroughly weary of me as I am of him, 
he will leave me in peace if you get him recognized and 
received as your stepfather. It is a little thing to ask of 
you, Rollamore ! ” 

“ I will wait and see what Mr. Roche is like before I 
make any promises.” 

“And when you see him ! Ah ! when you see him, 
I know how he will strike you. I know how he strikes 
me now when I look at him — even custom hasn’t dead- 
ened the sharp pang of mortification and rage which is 
my portion whenever he approaches me.” 


200 


THE KI LB URNS. 


“ What on earth made you marry him ? ” Lord Rolla- 
more asked gruffly. 

“Poverty, and the desire to live down an evil 
report,” she replied airily; “he was so respectable, so 
unctuous, such a favorite with a lot of dear, comfort- 
ably-off, old, low-church ladies, that I thought, 4 here, 
at least, is safety. ' 

“ Is Mr. Roche a parson ? ” 

“ He has been many things by turns, and nothing 
long, but never a parson, ” she said wearily. ‘ ‘ I think, if 
he were a parson, I could never go into a church again. 
No, he was ‘ lay reader, ’ I think he called himself, when 
I met him at a fashionable inland watering-place. He 
was so respectable, so smug, that any one of his old 
ladies would have been delighted to marry and main- 
tain him. But he preferred me, because I carried on 
with a dash that deluded him into the idea that I had 
money. They had such faith in him that they accepted 
me at first. But he spoilt everything by rousing my 
jealousy. Fool that I was to be jealous of such a 
creature ! But I was, and in my rage I exposed him 
to the parents of the girl to whom he was making love. 
Her brother laid a whip over his shoulders, and we had 
to leave the place. Then he hated me, and left me to 
shift for myself, and I — shifted for myself. Now he 
finds that I shall be, must be, received as your mother ; 
and he is coming to share my good fortune. Deal 
warily with him, or he will revenge himself upon you, 
and ruin you.” 

Lord Rollamore laughed contemptuously. 

“ He can’t do that. I’m beyond the power of such a 
cur as you describe your husband to be.” 

“Take warning! Be cautious! Temporize with 
him, for your own sake as well as mine,” she cried 
agitatedly ; and he, feeling sick to death of the domes- 


THE SUBSTANCE OF MR. ROCHE. 


201 


tic drama which was being unfolded for his learning, 
promised that he would do his best to satisfy the 
requirements of Mr. Roche. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE SUBSTANCE OF MR. ROCHE. 

“I suppose I am very weak and very selfish. But I 
love you so much, that I can only say, if you want 
me, I am ready to come to you. I know it would be 
fine and generous of me if I reminded you that I am 
not fit to mate with you, now that you’re a lord as well 
as being a rich man. But if you think that the girl 
who’s been your model is good enough to be your 
wife, I'll try to think so too.” 

These were some of the words which Valerie Heath 
wrote in answer to Lord Rollamore’s earnest appeal to 
her that she would forgive and love him again. In his 
joy, he told Gilbert of his success, and Gilbert coun- 
selled him “ to have it out with the old lady at once.” 

‘‘She’s not deficient in common-sense, in the early 
hours of the day at least. Put it to that common-sense, 
before Roche comes, that it will be well for her to 
make a home for herself elsewhere. Your future wife 
and your mother may be decently friendly if they don’t 
live together.” 

“ They never shall live together — on that I’m deter- 
mined. But my mother is deuced hard to move. She 
takes refuge in some imaginary terror of Roche when- 
ever I propose that she should leave Parkventon. Ton 
my word, Gilbert, Roche hangs over me like a fog or a 
nightmare. I’d rather see the fellow in the flesh than 


202 


THE K I LB UR NS. 


have the prospect of him dangled before my eyes, as 
my poor mother insists on doing.” 

Very soon after this conversation Roche came ; and 
then the unfortunate Lord Rollamore was fain to con- 
fess that, horrible as the mere prospect of him had 
been, the present personality of the man was infinitely 
worse.” 

Mr. Roche drove up from Caddleton in an open car- 
riage, drawn by the best pair of horses the posting- 
house could supply. He had announced himself to the 
landlord, the drivers, and the ostlers as “Lord Rolla- 
more’s stepfather.” “Come down to pay him along 
visit,” he had added ; and the whole establishment had 
looked its ways smartly in obedience to his behests. 

The report of him ran through the little town rapidly, 
and when he was seen driving away, a sense of disap- 
pointment set in the breasts of the acute among the 
observers, that yet another of Lord Rollamore’s belong- 
ings should be so utterly unsatisfactory. If Mr. Roche 
had been a rough but honest-looking backwoodsman, 
or a gentlemanly, refined-looking scamp, or a perfectly 
commonplace, tradesmanlike-looking person, the place 
would have tolerated him more readily. But, instead 
of being any one of these things, he was an unctuous 
smooth-faced, beady, black-eyed man of about forty, 
with a variable manner, that betrayed a doubt he would 
have died to hide of himself. 

There was a clerical cut about his coat and white tie, 
which misled the many into believing him to be 
a clergyman, but the landlord of the inn had seen the 
name on his luggage, and corrected that idea swiftly. 

“This party's luggage was all labelled Henry Roche, 
Esquire. He’s no parson — doesn’t seem gentleman 
enough for that, but he’s free-handed and haughty- 
spoken enough to be the Prince of Wales. Lord Rol- 


THE SUBSTANCE OF MR. ROCHE. 203 

lamore won’t want him at Parkventon long, I reckon/’ 
While the landlord was delivering this dictum con- 
cerning him, Mr Roche was rehearsing the speeches 
and action wherewith he should insinuate himself into 
Lord Rollamore’s favor and confidence. 

“ For I’ll try fair means first,” he decided ; “ and, if 
they fail, I’ll ‘try another method,’ as the cookery 
books say. The secret gives me a good leverage over 
madame, too. If she doesn’t hand over the bulk of the 
property she wheedled out of that poor old woman to 
me, down comes her house of cards and her son’s cas- 
tles in the air. If they are both sensible, I’ll hold my 
hand, and we’ll all live together, and be happy and 
comfortable, and go into the best society. After all, 
Henry Roche you didn’t do so badly for yourself when 
you became stepfather to Lord Rollamore ! ” 

He drove up to the door with a smile on one side oi 
his face, that would have prepossessed the most rudi- 
mentary student in physiognomy against him. The 
side of his face that smiled had a puffy cheek, that was 
apt to get flushed when fie was agitated or excited. It 
presented this round red spot to the observant gaze now, 
while the rest of his face remained pallid. 

He asked for Lord Rollamore first, and, on being 
ushered into that gentleman’s presence, he fell into his 
first error. The one ambition of the man’s life was to 
seem to be on terms of equality with what he always 
spoke of as the “upper ten.” To address a nobleman 
in an off-hand, friendly way, gave him sensations of 
pleasure that are indescribable. 

“ My dear Rollamore, this is a moment I have been 
looking forward to for years, ever since I had the good 
fortune to marry your excellent mother, in fact,” he be- 
gan, holding out both hands — these hands were cased 


204 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


in ill-fitting black kid. Lord Rollamore contented him- 
self with coldly touching one of them. 

“This visit is quite unexpected by me,” he said 
stiffly. 

“ I have waited for an invitation, waited patiently for 
three weeks/' Mr. Roche purred, putting his one-sided 
smile on, and rubbing his already far too shiny hat in 
a caressing way that exasperated Lord Rollamore. 
“The invitation not arriving, I thought it better for all 
parties concerned to come and establish friendly rela- 
tions with you at once. Do I not stand in the relation 
of a father to you, my dear son ? ” 

Lord Rollamore felt that he had done many foolish 
things in his life. Still, he was conscious that he did 
not quite deserve this. 

“ Is my mother aware that you are here ? ” he asked. 

“ My dear wife has not been apprised of the fact. I 
wished to see you first. I thought it better that we 
should understand each other, without any intervention 
from your mother." 

Lord Rollamore bowed slightly by way of answer. 
Mr. Roche stroked his hat rather more severely, and 
the red spot on his largest cheek assumed a deeper dye. 

“ My object in coming here, Lord Rollamore, is two- 
fold. I desire, in the first place, to give your mother — 
of whose antecedents I don't wish now to speak — the 
protection of a husband's presence. I desire, in the 
second place, to get all the social benefit I can from my 
relationship to your lordship." 

He smiled and stroked his hat, and cringed his body 
forward in affected humility as he spoke, and Lord 
Rollamore's whole nature rose in revolt against him. 

“ I tell you at once, distinctly and definitely, Mr. 
Roche, you will get no social advantages or benefits 
from the connection — which I deeply deplore — with 


THE SUBSTANCE OF MR. ROCHE. 


205 


myself. Your gross allusion to my mother’s past his- 
tory has raised a barrier between us, which can never 
be broken down or overstepped. For an hour you are 
welcome to the hospitality of this house. At the expi- 
ration of that hour, I must request that you leave the 
house, and never return to it again.” 

Mr. Roche got up from the comfortable chair in 
which he had ensconced himself in his amazement. 

“ My young game-cock, you’re only a barn-door 
fowl after all ! ” he said sneeringly. “ I’ll tell you 
something that will stop your crowing. You’re going 
to turn me out, are you ? I’m not good enough to be 
introduced to your fine friends, am I? Well, Lord 
Rollamore, we’ll see about that when I’ve had a talk 
with your mother ! Meanwhile, I’ll have something to 
eat and drink, and you take care that I’m well served, 
Lord Rollamore.” 

He laid an insulting emphasis on the last two words. 
His whole manner was a jeer. Yet what “could Lord 
Rollamore do other than he had done ? ” he asked him- 
self as he left Mr. Roche* in possession of the field, and 
went away to consult his mother after ordering a rich 
repast to be served without delay to his obnoxious 
visitor. 

Mrs. Roche met him with a half-frightened, wholly 
deprecating air, that told its own tale of dread and dis- 
trust of the man she had married. 

“ I hear he has come, ’’she began. “ Rollamore, do 
believe me, he has not come by my wish or invitation. 
I have done all I can to keep him away, but this has 
been his custom all along. No sooner do I establish 
myself anywhere, and obtain recognition in good 
society, than he comes and wrecks me by his push- 
ing, fawning, horribly underbred manner. Ah, how 
I have suffered through that man ! ” 


2 o6 


THE KI. LB URNS. 


“ Why on earth did you marry him ; ” Lord Rolla- 
more asked testily. 

“I have told you. I was desolate and in poverty. 
He knew that my son would have rank, and wealth, 
and importance one day, and he thought it would be a 
good investment to marry me. He has taunted me 
with that truth over and over again, and in return I 
have tried to keep him in order by telling him my secret. 
Would to Heaven I could lock it up in my own breast 
again, for if, in his spite, he makes it public, it will 
damage you ! ” 

“ Won’t you confide your secret to me ? Surely it 
would be better that you should do so, since he knows 
it, and is likely to make a malicious use of it.” 

“ I can’t — I dare not ! ” she shuddered. “ My life’s 
work would be undone if I told you. But do trust me 
— do believe that, for your own sake, it will be well 
that you should temporize with this man — that you 
should please and flatter him even — if you can bring 
yourself to do it ! ” 

She spoke earnestly and in evident alarm, but his 
aversion to Mr. Roche was too strong to permit him to 
make the concession she craved for. 

“ I have ordered him to leave my house in an hour. 
He is a man with whom I can’t possibly temporize or 
hold any but the most distant intercourse. If he 
threatens me, as he seems to have threatened you, I 
will have him removed by force. Life wouldn’t be 
worth living if I went into bondage to the evil tongue 
of such a cad as Mr. Roche is proving himself to be.” 

“ Oh, Rollamore, be guided by me ! ” she implored. 
“ Go away for a few days — do anything rather than 
aggravate him. Meanwhile, I will try to get him to go 
away peacefully, without making a scene or raising a 
scandal.” 


THE SUBSTANCE OF MR. ROCHE. 


207 


“ My dear mother, what are you afraid of?” he 
asked, more kindly than he had ever addressed her 
before. “ If you shrink from the idea of his coarsely 
speaking in this neighborhood of the sad story of your 
earlier life, remember that he can tell people nothing 
new, even if in his malice he descends to the utter base- 
ness of saying anything against you. So dismiss that 
fear, /will support you and stand by you, if you will 
separate yourself from a man whom you evidently dis- 
like and distrust.” 

“ Ah ! you don't know what you counsel ; you don't 
know what you say,” she moaned. “ There is danger 
e ven in my having this interview with you before I see 
him, and learn what his wishes and intentions are. Go 
away for a few days, Rollamore, till I have smoothed 
matters. If you meet and oppose him again, something 
terrible will happen.” 

“ He'll hardly go the length of taking my life because 
I won!t be a cork-jacket to float him into society.” 

“ He may be goaded by his extravagant vanity and 
snobbish desire to obtain a recognized place in decent 
society, to take what you value more than life.” 

“ Come, mother, he can neither take my good name, 
nor the girl I love, from me.” 

“ The girl you love ! This is the first I have heard 
about her. Tell me quickly, are you going to marry at 
last, as you ought ? ” 

“ I think so.” 

“ Tell me, tell me,” she cried impatiently. “ All 
your life I have been ambitious for you. My own 
ambitions were so cruelly crushed ; but even when I 
was first hurled down and trodden under foot, I thought 
of you, I protected your interests. It has been my 
dream for years to see. you, my son, occupying a high 
position. Tell me, who is the lady you have chosen.” 


208 


THE KI LB URNS. 


“A dear, good girl, who loves me, and will make 
me very happy.” 

“ Is she a daughter of one of the county families, or 
did you meet her in London ? ” 

“ I met her in London. You mustn't be disappointed 
when I tell you that she’s not a highly-born girl. Her 
father was a poor city clerk. She maintains herself 
and her little brother, and educates the boy entirely by 
her own efforts.” 

“ And those efforts ? What are they ? Is she an 
actress ? ” 

“ She is a model. I have painted her half-a-score 
times. I can show you what she’s like if you’ll come 
to my own den.” 

Then Mrs. Roche rose up and wrung her hands, and 
alternately stormed and wailed at him. 

“You are bent on your own destruction *, ’’ she raved, 
“ you —you to try and play the part of King Cophetua. 
It is madness. You are bound by your duty to me 
and to yourself to marry fittingly. You threw yourself 
away on a vulgar woman once, and now you are going 
to do worse and throw yourself away on a vulgar young 
one.” 

‘‘She is not that,” he said sharply. “Come, mother, 
be reasonable ; turn your thoughts to this man who has 
forced himself upon me. How can you best deal with 
him, and persuade him to leave me in peace?- I'll go 
away for a few days as you propose, and trust to you 
to get Mr. Roche away before he makes us all ridicu- 
lous.” 

“Ungrateful ! ” she sobbed, “you will go to this girl, 
probably, to this girl who has been your model, and 
the model, I presume, of every other man who cared 
to pay her for exhibiting her charms. You will go to 


“I'LL UNRAVEL IT.” 


209 

her, and leave me, your mother, to combat the worst 
difficulty of her life alone.” 

“ You are not reasonable, mother ; if you will let me 
share your secret, I will gladly enough share your 
difficulties, and strive my best to free you from them.” 

“ Boy ! you don’t know what you are talking about. 
You don’t know your own danger 1 You madden me 
by your folly and frivolity. To dream of spoiling such 
a career as yours might be for the sake of a pretty, low- 
born Dulcinea ! How can I save you from yourself? ” 

“Take me into your confidence, ” he was beginning 
to plead, when Mr. Roche, flushed and shiny from the 
effects of a heavy luncheon, came into the room. 

“ I have given myself the freedom of the house at 
once, you perceive, Rollamore,” he began affably. 
“Ah, my dear wife, bright and blooming as ever, I am 
delighted fo observe. I’m sorry to find, though, that 
prosperity is affecting your memory ; you forgot to 
remind your son that he ought to have invited me to 
Parkventon. ” 

“Will you never leave me in peace?” she muttered 
angrily. “Yes, go, Rollamore ! it is better you should 
go. Leave me to deal with this man alone.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“i’ll unravel it.” 

“ I have an explanation to make to you. When I 
have made it you will probably be so justly angry with 
me that you will find it hard to forgive me.” 

Florence read this sentence, in the first letter Gilbert 
Kilburn had addressed to her since the one in which he 
had broken off their engagement, with painfully mixed 

14 


210 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


feelings. That he had found a solution of the difficulty 
which divided them she did not doubt. 

“But how shall I feel about it? ” she asked herself. 
“ It will be very hard for me to love and trust him again, 
even it he wants me to do it, and he hasn’t said he does 
that yet. ” 

She read this sentence from his letter to her mother, 
and as Mrs. Maunders had never known that he had 
suspected her of the sin of being his father's first dis- 
honored wife, she failed, as signally as her daughter 
had done, in putting a right construction upon this first 
instalment of his apology. 

“ I am afraid the Kilburns are a variable race/' Mrs. 
Maunders said to her married daughter when they were 
discussing this letter of attempted reconciliation which 
Florence had received. It was the hour before Mrs. 
Maunders’s early dinner, and Kathleen had dropped in 
for a mid-day chat after doing her marketing. 

“ I fancy that, from what Ned tells me, Mr. Kilburn 
has a very good explanation to give for himself. He 
v/as very miserable himself at the time, poor fellow. 
I do hope Flo and he will make it up, and marry after 
all. ” 

“It does seem a wayward fate, after all, that my 
daughter should marry a ‘Gilbert Kilburn/” Mrs. 
Maunders said musingly ; “I used to feel so sorry for 
the poor young man all those years that I was bound 
to secresy, knowing that he was not the heir, and yet 
not daring to give him a hint of his false position.” 

“ Well, never mind it now, mother. He’s happy 
enough, or will be if he makes it up with Flo, and he’s 
comfortably enough off to afford himself the luxury of 
a wife. You see, his half-brother and he are such 
friends, that Ned says Lord Rollamore won’t move 
a step without consulting Gilbert. He wants Gilbert to 


“I’LL UNRAVEL ITU 


211 


negotiate with that dreadful Mr. Roche, who has taken 
up his quarters at Parkventon, and try to get him to go 
away without making a disturbance. Ned says the way 
that horrid man bullies and tyrannizes over Mrs. Roche 
is distressing to witness. She seems absolutely to go 
in terror of her life of him, though he’s always suave 
and smiling to her before people. But the servants say 
he’s dreadfill to her when they’re alone, and is always 
threatening to ‘ expose her ’ if she doesn’t agree to all 
his wishes. He made her go out with him yesterday, 
and pay a lot of calls on all the best people in the 
neighborhood, and then he was furious because every 
one said not at home. He is disgusting all the old ser- 
vants by the airs he gives himself. He told Ned yes- 
terday that if he couldn’t fill the house with people of 
the neighborhood, he’d fill it with his own old friends 
from town, and see how Lord Rollamore liked them. 
Really, his wife ought to remember that she is Lord 
Rollamore’s mother, and make Mr. Roche go away.” 

“ My poor cousin was always as weak as water 
where men were concerned,” Mrs. Maunders sighed. 
“ If I thought I could do any good, I’d go over and see 
them, and try and persuade them both to go away. 
They both ought to go. They are both detrimental to 
his honor and happiness, and if she has the real feel- 
ings of a mother, she will consider her son’s welfare 
more than her own pleasures, and go away with her 
husband, however bad he may be to her, if he won’t 
go without her. ” 

“ He will neither go without her or with her — there’s 
the difficulty. He means to buy a big place close by, 
if he can get it, with his wife's money, and make Lord 
Rollamore force the county to receive him. He wants to 
be a magistrate, and to keep a pack of hounds, though 
I’m certain, from the look of him, he can’t ride a bit. 


2 12 


THE K I LB URNS. 


I can't describe to you how arrogant and vulgar he is, 
mamma. His wife always seemed bold and defiant 
enough before he came, but he has completely cowed 
her . v 

“ I can't understand it ; she is so completely inde- 
pendent of him, one would imagine. Poor woman ! 
her sin has found her out indeed." 

“And though she's so abject to him," Mrs. Sheffield 
resumed, “ she gives herself ghastly airs to everyone 
else. May Torrens won't stay in the house with her, 
so she has come down here to the Kilburns. Mrs. 
Roche quite lost her head yesterday, and cried and 
stamped with fury when a letter came from Lord Rol- 
lamore saying he wanted his house cleared in order 
that he might set about making some building altera- 
tions. She said she knew he ‘ was going to marry some 
low girl, and upset her life's work and all her plans for 
him ; ' and her husband laughed at her, and drove her 
nearly wild. Such scenes go on there ! Mrs. Jennings 
is going, and the coachman is only waiting for ‘ his 
lordship to come home ' to give notice ; and everything, 
both inside and outside the house, is at sixes and 
sevens." 

“Poor Lord Rollamore ! he has been placed in a false 
position all the days of his life ; he has always been the 
victim of his mother’s crime," Mrs. Maunders said sor- 
rowfully. 

“ Is Mr. Roche the man she ran away with ? She 
did run away from her first husband, didn't she, 
mother ? " 

“ No, no ; he's not the man with whom she ran — 
well, she didn't ‘ run away ' at all. Her husband had 
reason to be jealous of her, and divorced her. It's a 
subject I'd rather not discuss, dear, for, though my 
cousin was a faulty woman, I loved her dearly once." 


“/’ZZ UNRAVEL ITR 213 

“ But, mamma, do tell me this one thing : if Mr. 
Roche wasn’t the man on whose account she was di- 
vorced, who was it ? ” 

“ I never knew him.” 

“ But surely you must have heard his name, and 
something about him ? ” 

“ He was one of her husband’s grooms,” Mrs. Maun- 
ders confessed unwillingly; “and that made her con- 
duct all the worse, for she must have been the tempter. 
She left her beautiful home, her kind husband, and her 
dear little helpless child for the sake of a low wretch 
who had nothing but a handsome person to recommend 
him, and who tired of her very soon, and deserted her. 
It’s a pitiful story, Kathleen — one that I have tried to 
wipe out of my memory vainly for years, one that I 
can’t tell without agony now. ” 

“Poor mother, you loved your cousin so much, did 
you?” Kathleen said softly. “ Looking at her now, 
and hearing of the things she does and says, I can’t 
fancy her at all a lovable person. ” 

“I loved her once,” Mrs. Maunders said softly. 

“And her husband — the one who was after Lord 
Rollamore — did you know him ? ” 

“I did! ” 

“Had he forgotten you when he came here as Lord 
Rollamore ? ” 

“Completely forgotten me !” 

“Why didn’t you recall yourself to his memory, 
mamma ! ” 

“ I was only too glad that he had forgotten me ! ” 

“ I suppose you thought he would visit your cousin’s 
sins on you ? ” 

“ We won’t speak of it any more, Kathleen. I fear, 
when Gilbert Kilburn realizes that Florence is related 


214 


THE KI LB URNS. 


to his father’s first wife, he will think better of his pro- 
posal. ” 

“ He can’t be so mean ! Oh, no, mother, he loves 
her too well to let that fact weigh with him. Poor dear 
Flo, she has kept up so bravely all this time, I do hope 
she is going to be happy at last, as happy as I am, for 
instance — she can’t well be happier.” 

Even as she was saying this, Florence came into the 
room, beaming and beautiful. 

“ Gilbert is here, mother ! ” she began ; “ everything 
is smooth between us again. I’m the luckiest and the 
happiest girl in the world. He is going to take me to 
his mother this afternoon. Come and see him, and tell 
him you’ll be glad to have him for a son.” 

“Glad ? Ah, Florence, I can never make any of you 
young people know how glad I am. I am almost too 
nervous to tell him so. I dread breaking down.” 

“But why should you be nervous? ” healthy, happy 
young Florence asked impatiently; “now, I might 
have been excused when Gilbert came in and explained 
himself. I wasn’t a bit — I listened quite calmly to his 
explanation, and promised that you would forgive him 
for a silly mistake he made about you, mother dear.” 

Then she briefly told them of the letter which Doctor 
Sheffield had found in the book in the old secretary, 
and of the misconceptions which had arisen in the 
minds of both Gilbert Kilburn and Doctor Sheffield in 
consequence of it. 

“Gilbert says he could almost have fallen on Mrs. 
Roche’s neck and wept for joy when he heard that she 
was his father’s first wife, and not you, mother. Now, 
come and let him fall on your neck instead. ” 

There was a good deal of quiet rejoicing in the 
Maunders’s household that day. But through it all Mrs. 
Maunders kept on telling herself that ‘things would 


U I'LL UNRAVEL IT." 215 

not be as well ' if all were known ! Gilbert Kilburn 
would be as pitiless to a fault or a folly of which he was 
not the cause, as his father was before him. ” 

It was rather a relief to them all that they were able 
to fall back upon Mr. Roche as a topic. There were 
no pathetic undercurrents where he was concerned. 
He was all broad comedy to outsiders, though a very 
sad bit of tragedy to his wife. 

“Rollamore is coming home to-morrow,” Gilbert 
told them. “I’m going to meet him at the station, and 
back him up in his sortie on his own house. Between 
us, we hope to improve Mr. and Mrs. Roche off the prem- 
ises. But we're not very sanguine. She's so furious 
at Rollamore's engagement, that she won't side with 
him against Roche. And Roche seems determined to 
cling to the shadow of respectability which staying at 
Parkventon confers on him.” 

“What an awful thing it must be to have such thick- 
skinned relations to deal with,” Florence laughed. 
“ I seem to feel, though, that I could tackle Mr. Roche 
and get rid of him. Have his luggage put out of the 
house, Gilbert. Send all the servants away, and leave 
him in possession of an empty larder and locked cellar 
if he doesn't follow his luggage. He wouldn’t hold on 
at Parkventon long if he had nothing to eat.' ; 

“I'll suggest your plan to Rollamore, but you see 
there's a lady in the case. He can't turn his mother out 
of the house, and, in starving out the obnoxious step- 
father, he would strike a blow at her.” 

“ If she has any motherly feeling, she will go with- 
out causing a scandal. I can't understand her being 
* afraid of Mr. Roche ; she used to be very high- 
spirited.” 

“Perhaps there is some reason we ‘ wot not of' for 
her submissive bearing to Roche, There must be, I 


2l6 


THE KI LB URNS. 


think, or she wouldn’t hang on at Parkventon, where 
she isn’t happy, merely because he orders her to stay. 
You have suggested a mystery to me, Mrs. Maunders, 
and I’ll unravel it in Rollamore’s interest.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

1 ‘over the brink of it.” 

“Rollamore comes home to-day, doesn’t he?” Mr. 
Roche inquired of his wife, as he seated himself oppo- 
site to her at the breakfast-table. 

“He does, expecting to find us gone. Why can’t you 
understand that you would be happier anywhere than 
here ? Why can’t you spare me the torture of seeing 
that my son hates my presence in his house ? ” 

“ Why don’t you understand that I care no more for 
your son’s feelings than I do for yours ? ” he answered, 
with a coarse laugh. “ He’ll find it to his advantage to 
saddle his horse with mine. I only married you for the 
sake of being stepfather to the future Lord Rollamore, 
and I mean to derive all the benefit I can from the con- 
nection. 

‘‘You forget that he can turn you out.” 

“If he tries that game I’ll turn him out. Don’t be a 
fool, Mrs. Roche. You should have kept your own 
counsel if you wanted to work the oracle without me. ” 

After this interchange of amenities, the husband and 
wife parted for a few hours, he to work out a scheme 
he had for subduing Lord Rollamore, and effecting an 
entrance into county society, she to think out a far 
more important matter — a matter that would, if revealed, 
rob her of that rag of respectability which she had seemed 
to have attained after many years. 


“ OVER THE BRINK OF IT R 


217 


-If I can keep my temper ! If I only can keep my 
temper, all may be well even now,” she kept on saying 
to herself ; “But Roche can madden meat any mo- 
ment, and in my madness I may be rash. He is my evil 
genius, and I am my son’s. ” 

She was standing at the window of her bedroom as 
she meditated, and presently she saw her husband 
emerge from the house, looking more carefully kempt 
than usual, and with a sanguine expression on his smug 
face that forewarned her of his being bent on some en- 
terprise of which she would disapprove. He looked up 
and waved his black gloves at her in token that she 
was to come down and join him. Unwillingly enough 
she went, to find him already seated in an open carriage, 
horsed by Lord Rollamore’s prize pair, which he never 
permitted any one to use but himself. 

“ You are not going to take out those horses, surely ? ” 
she asked excitedly, and he assured her that not only 
was he going to take out those horses, but that she was 
to accompany him for a drive. 

“If in the course I like to make a call or two, you 
may as well be with me. You were more accus- 
tomed to this style of thing in the days gone by than 
I was, so mind you give a good impression to the neigh- 
borhood. 

“ But no one has called on me/’ she said, in an agony 
of mortification ; “ it is impossible for me to force an 
entrance into people’s houses. I tell you, Mr. Roche, 
they will not know either of us. You are going out of 
your way to bring us both to confusion.” 

“A little time ago you were as keen as I was about 
being floated into a decent sphere by your precious 
son. Why have you changed your tune ? ” 

“ Because, I see now that it is an impossibility. He 
can’t serve us in any way, why should we injure him? ” 


2l8 


THE KI LB URNS. 


“ He’ll serve me for fear very soon, if he won’t for 
love, Mrs. Roche. Go and put on your bonnet ; get 
yourself up to look smart, as you know how to look. 
I'm going to take you to call on the widow, Lady Rolla- 
more, and I’m going to make her understand that, if 
she wishes well by her stepson, she must take us up. ” 

“ She’s not a society-woman at all. She lives quite 
a recluse life. She has not the power to obtain a rec- 
ognition for you from the county, even if she had the 
will.” 

“ You allow me to be the best judge where my own 
welfare is concerned ; make haste and dress yourself 
and come with me,” he said impatiently. 

“ That I will not do ! ” 

“ You will,” he said, in an evil tone. 

Then he leant over the sides of the carriage, and 
whispered something, which had the effect of enraging 
— and subduing her. 

“I will come, but you shall not force me into the 
presence of Lady Rollamore. The insult to her would 
be one she could never forgive, and I could never offer. 
Do you deny me the least bit of womanly feeling, that 
you can propose such a thing?” she muttered, hoping 
the servants would not hear her. 

“Well, I’ll let you off calling there, if you’ll come at 
once, and look cheerful about it.” 

“ I wish I had never been rash enough to come to 
this place at all,” she grumbled, as they drove away. 
“You are ruining everything by your preposterous folly. 
If you quarrel with my son, or try to injure him in any 
way, you shall never have one penny from me as long 
as you live. If you will be sensible, you shall share 
my fortune with me, and I will leave the bulk of it to 
you. You are younger than I am. Come to these terms 
with me, and enjoy your prosperity instead of cultivat- 


“ OVER THE BRINK OF ITT 


219 

in g a vindictive spirit, that will injure yourself in the 
end, as much as it will injure Rollamore and me.” 

“I'm not vindictive, my dear ; that’s where you make 
the mistake. I only want to benefit myself, not to in- 
jure a single one of my fellow-creatures. I’ve always 
wished to live respected, and to be sought for, and to 
see people in a station above what I was born think 
highly of me, and cultivate my acquaintance. I mar- 
ried you with that object, and I’ve kept it well before 
me for years.” 

“You must have been sanguine, indeed, if you 
thought my respectability would do all these fine things 
for you, ” she said bitterly. 

“ I knew you were clever enough to affect a virtue 
if you had it not, and I remembered that in time your 
son would be Lord Rollamore. Well, my dear, you 
haven’t affected the virtue ; you, personally, have been 
rather a hindrance to me in my upward flight. But 
your son can help me to take my place with ease as a 
model country gentleman.” 

“ You a country gentleman ! ” she scoffed ; “ you, 
who never crossed a saddle or shouldered a gun in your 
life, picture yourself walking through a turnip-field in 
your frock-coat and black kid gloves, and then ask your- 
self if you would be congruous with the keepers and 
pointers.” 

“ I could change my dress,” he replied, almost meekly. 

“ But not your manner of wearing it. Your manner 
always becomes cringing when you are in the company 
of those you believe to be your betters, whether they 
are or not. Take my advice. Go away from here, 
where your vanity will be mortified perpetually. Leave 
poor Rollamore in peace. He has never injured you. 
He does not even resent the idea of my giving you the 
money I wheedled his wife into leaving me.” 


2 20 


THE K I LB UR NS. 


“You don’t know how I’ve set rfry heart on being rec- 
ognized as a member of a great family,” he pleaded 
fawningly ; “ I would never disgrace him. I’d spend 
money in the neighborhood freely.” 

“ My money, remember ! ” 

“ Your money, if you like to be mean enough to re- 
mind me that it was yours before you gave it to me. 
I’d never disgrace him. I'd learn to keep a silent 
tongue in my head, and if once I felt happy and at ease, 
I should pick up a quiet, gentlemanly manner.” 

Reminding herself that she had much to gain, and 
everything to lose, as far as her son is concerned, she 
took advantage of Mr. Roche's lapse into temporary' 
mildness to remark that it would be a good earnest of 
his intended reformation and improvement in manner 
and social habits, if he at once ordered Lord Rolla- 
more's horses' heads to be turned homewards, and re- 
frain from using them again without Lord Rollamore's 
permission. 

“ Oh ! I'm not going to give myself up entirely,” he 
replied suspiciously. “There must be a little give and 
take between his lordship and me. I'm not going to be 
treated like a pardoned criminal. I shall expect him to 
be as affable to me as he is to his ‘half-brother,' Gil- 
bert Kilburn. Pve just as good a claim on his affability 
and forbearance, if he only knew it.” 

“Ah, but he doesn't know it. Now, will you give 
me one little bit of pleasure, — the first I've had since we 
came here, — say we'll go home? I don't like these 
horses. They have restless eyes, and the coachman is 
annoyed at driving us. I see it all. Let us go home 
before anything happens.” 

They were coming to a part of the road where the rail- 
way line ran along it for some few hundred yards, and 
then crossed a slanting bridge over the highway. L i ; 


A REPULSE . 


221 


not a good pice of driving ground when trains are due 
along by its side, for only a few weak hurdles guard the 
side of it that slopes down precipitously to a few cot- 
tages and allotment gardens. Almost as Mrs. Roche 
spoke, they saw an express train coming down the in- 
cline to meet them, smoking furiously, and making a 
hideous noise. The horses, moved by contrary spirits of 
terror and devilry, made one dash forward, thus getting 
an enormous way on ; the next moment they swerved 
round towards the precipitous declivity, hung suspended 
over it for an instant or two, then fell promiscuously an 
awful heap of crushed humanity and horse into the 
roadway beneath. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A REPULSE. 

The remains of one of the horses was presently dis- 
entangled from the one that still lived, with a badly 
broken knee. The coachman, who was only stunned, 
was picked out, and conveyed by some handy laborers 
to a cottage near. Mrs. Roche, much shaken and 
bruised, dazed, but not insensible, was taken in charge 
tenderly by the laborer’s wife. Then, all these things 
being done, the footman, who had escaped with a great 
fright, remembered that the “ old gentleman ” had been 
in the carriage when it went over the bank. 

So they searched again, and finally found a seriously 
damaged Mr. Roche under the debris of the carriage — 
a man so shattered and maimed that he could not be 
moved at all until a doctor and an ambulance came to 
his aid. Even then, though he was moved under the 
greatest and most cautious conditions, his hold of life 
seemed so slack, that it was doubtful two or three times 


222 


THE KI LB URNS. 


whether it was a corpse they were taking back to Park- 
venton, or only a dying man. 

It was such a catastrophe that, when Lord Rollamore 
came home and heard of it, his lips were sealed by 
human kindness as to any annoyance he must have 
felt about his horses. He was puzzled and pained by 
his mothers manner of mentioning the accident. At 
one moment she would sob and lament over the pros- 
pect of either being left a solitary widow, or of being 
tied to a cripple husband for the remainder of her life ; 
at another she would hysterically declare it to be “a 
judgment on Mr. Roche for his selfish intention of 
aggrandizing himself at the expense of Lord Rollamore.” 
But when pressed for an explanation of this suggestion 
of injurious intention, she could only be got to declare 
herself to be a miserably misunderstood woman — one 
whose lot it had always been to bring ruin on those 
who loved her, unhappiness to those she loved. 

Weeks wore away in this way. Still the time did 
not seem tedious to Lord Rollamore, who had pleasant 
thoughts of Valerie Heath wherewith to beguile the 
time. 

All his arrangements for his marriage were completed ; 
Valerie was to come down with her young brother, 
stay with the Dowager Lady Rollamore, and be married 
from the cottage. The girl had no false pride about 
her, no fear of being despised by those aristocrats among 
whom she was coming for having pursued an honest 
calling — for she had pursued it honestly. Moreover, 
she rejoiced in the thought that, when her great pro- 
motion to rank, and wealth, and matronhood came, she 
would reward them well by unceasing thoughtful, af- 
fectionate attention for all they were doing for her. 

Coming to the widow Lady Rollamore was like com- 
ing to the mother of the man she was to marry, it 


A REPULSE. 


223 


almost seemed to the girl. The woman whose son had 
been superseded by Lord Rollamore gave the latter only 
less love and consideration than she showed to her own 
son. For “ he is absolutely blameless, ” she would say, 
“and I will not be one of those who visit the sins of 
the fathers on the children.” 

But, though Valeries introduction to this part of the 
family was all peaceful and pleasant sailing, there was 
stormy weather and a rough sea still between the girl 
and the haven of matrimony. Mrs. Roche was the 
storm-breeder. She had conceived an antipathy to Va- 
lerie Heath before she saw her. She hated the girl who 
had no rank, no position, no status whatever, for pre- 
suming to aspire to marry her son. After she had seen 
her, and seen that she took her coming honors very 
easily, as well as very gladly, the temper-fiend rose in 
Mrs. Roche, and she vowed to herself that this thing 
should never come to pass. 

There had been but one brief interview between these 
two — the woman who, with all her faults, was the 
nearest by nature, and should have been the dearest to 
Lord Rollamore, and the girl who was to be his wife. 
He had brought Valerie over to Parkventon the morning 
after her arrival at the Riverside cottage, and Mrs. Roche 
had received her in a dressing-gown and a darkened 
chamber that reeked with the fumes of various drugs 
which the latter had taken for the quieting of her nerves. 

Valerie had gone in frankly and in all friendliness, 
for nothing had been said to her by her lover of his 
mothers antagonism to their union. He had told her 
that much trouble and a mingled feeling of remorse 
and resentfulness at fate had soured and poisoned his 
mother’s better nature to a certain extent, and he had 
pleaded that Valerie would be tolerant and patient with 
her. 


224 


THE K I LB UR NS, 


“ She has sinned, but she has sorrowed and suffered 
for it. You’ll remember that she is my mother, won’t 
you, Valerie ? ” 

With tears in her happy, fearless eyes, the girl gave 
the required promise, and added, — 

“ I'll love her like my own mother, if she’ll let me.” 

But the enthusiasm with which she proffered her af- 
fection received a check at once when she went into 
the dim room where Mrs. Roche, looking very haggard 
and worn, without her war-paint, awaited her. 

“I have brought my future wife to you, mother. I 
hope you will let her be as a daughter to you.” 

Mrs. Roche looked the girl over steadily, from head 
to foot, before she replied, and Valerie’s color and spirit 
rose under the slighting scrutiny. 

“So this is the young person I heard of from your 
wife, Rollamore ; the young lady who was flirting With 
you in your studio on the eve of your marriage to 
another woman ? ” 

“I didn’t know he was going to be married ; don’t 
blame me for loving him ! When he wanted me to do 
so, how could I help it ? ” Then, feeling that her words 
conveyed a reproach to him for that perfidy, which she 
had long since forgiven, she added, — “ Do let bygones 
be bygones, Mrs. Roche. Let me be, as he says, a 
daughter to you ! You will find me a true one if you’ll 
have me.” 

For a moment it seemed as if Valerie’s honest appeal 
had moved the elder woman. Then she remembered 
that the girl would have her own social battle to fight 
when she was married, and that she had no family, no 
“people” to back her up. Such a daughter-in-law 
would be very useless to her, she reminded herself, 
hardening her heart as she did it. The thought worked 
her up into one of her sudden, uncontrollable furies, 


A REPULSE . 225 

and she exclaimed, with a fierce energy that staggered 
Valerie, — 

“You are premature with your offers of filial de- 
votion to me, Miss Valerie Heath. I tell you, you will 
never be Lady Rollamore." 

“Don’t say that! don’t hate me so/’ Valerie said, 
with a little sob. “ Rollamore, ask your mother to 
take back her cruel words ; they cut me like a knife/’ 
“No power on earth shall part me from you, dar- 
ling ! " he said boldly. “ Mother, I am sorry you should 
have forgotten the deep debt you owe me for the injury 
you did me when I was an infant — an injury I have 
forgiven, but which I can’t forget — when you insult, 
threaten, and distress the girl whom I love as my life, 
and who is to be my wife. She came to you unprej- 
udiced, full of warm, generous intentions of behaving 
as a daughter should to the mother of her husband. 
You have received her in a hostile spirit, which is ' as 
madly unreasonable as it is cruel/' 

“You are siding with her — with her — against your 
mother? ” Mrs. Roche cried, springing to her feet and 
advancing towards him with outstretched hands. “Oh, 
my son ! — my son ! — the only one left to me to love, 
are you going to cast me off utterly for her? " 

“I will never forget that I am your son — ” 

“Then leave her ! Cast her off, at my request — at 
my command — or it will be the worse for you ! You 
it is who have insulted me by placing her under the 
protection of the woman who usurped my name, and 
place, and honors. To bring her to me at all would 
have been an insult, but to bring her to me from that 
womans house is a deeper one still." 

“Come, Valerie, we have had enough of this," he 
said, taking her hand to lead her from the room, where- 
upon Mrs. Roche flung herself back in a fit of hysterics, 

15 


226 


THE KILBURNS . 


to escape from the sound of which Lord Rollamore 
hurried Valerie out of the house, and back to the gra- 
cious atmosphere of his stepmothers little house, where 
every one was kind to her. 

In this little house a pleasing excitement filled every 
minute of the day, for Fergus and May had just been 
married very quietly, and Gilbert and Florence were to 
follow their example as soon as a suitable house could 
be got and furnished for them. This lash-named bride- 
elect had nothing to endure at the hands of her future 
husband's family but loving kindness. They had, one 
and all, gone out of their way to show Mrs. Maunders 
that they honored her the more for the independent 
spirit which had made her keep a shop rather than 
exist in “ genteel poverty," or rely on the charity of 
relations. 

“ If they had slighted mother, or looked down on 
the dear old shop, which has been the means of educat- 
ing us and giving us all our hearts could desire, I should 
never have been happy, even with you, Gilbert," she 
told him, when the other pair came back with the story 
of the treatment Valerie had received from Mrs. Roche. 

“You must remember my mother is an angel, and 
poor Rollamore's mother is very much the reverse. 
Her hatred and malice ought not to affect them. Val- 
erie has done her duty and offered daughterly dutiful- 
ness. As her offer has been repulsed, she will be 
justified in steering clear of Mrs. Roche, who would 
never be a good companion for her. " 

“ Valere's a dear girl. She has been telling me how 
heart-broken she was when he threw her over for 
money. She doesn't care a penny for the position he 
can give her now. She only wants him." 

“ It's easy enough for a girl to say that, but not 
many would come out of such a test as you had, in the 


A REPULSE. 


227 


splendid way you did, Flo,” Gilbert answered, with a 
lover’s pardonable belief in the superiority of his own 
choice. “Valerie’s a very nice girl, but I can’t help 
thinking she never loses sight for an instant of the fact 
that she will be Lady Rollamore.” 

“She tells me she would just as soon he was only 
the painter with a small income whom she fell in love 
with first.” 

“At any rate, Rollamore is satisfied that it’s for him- 
self, and himself alone, that she’s going to marry him. 
He’s a happy fellow to be able to give the girl he loves 
all he can give her.” 

“As for that, Gilbert, you give me my whole heart’s 
desire, so you ought to be just as happy as he is.” 

“ We shall be comparatively poor, my dearest girl.” 

“Shall we? Poverty must be faced, then, and over- 
come by work. I don’t mean to be an idle woman 
because I am to be a married one.” 

“There will be no need for that. I shall be able to 
maintain my wife, thank God,” he said jealously. 

“That ability I’ve never doubted, dear Gilbert, but 
it won’t interfere with my work. Why should I be idle 
because my husband can support me? There has been 
no degradation in my giving music and painting lessons 
all these years while I’ve been Florence Maunders, so 
there will be none when I am Florence Kilburn. I’ve 
worked hard and improved a good deal lately, and I’ve 
the offer of a great number of pupils, more than I ever 
had before. I shall be prouder than ever of being a 
self-helpful woman, now that I shall help you too.” 

“I’ll try to forget that I once believed I had a glori- 
ous future to offer you, darling.” 

“You did offer it, and I accepted it with you. I 
can’t regret having lost it, for you are left.” 

“You’ll be as glorious a wife to me as if, instead of 


228 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


being the humble man I am now, I was still Lord Rolla- 
more, I’m sure of that,” he said, with happy enthusi- 
asm. “I'll never regret not having more to lay at your 
feet again as long as I live.” 

“Then we shall be entirely one at heart,” she told 
him confidently. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE AGONY OF HELPLESSNESS. 

“There must be an understanding between us be- 
fore I leave your house,” Mrs. Roche said tremulously, 
when her son told her that, as Mr. Roche was well 
enough to be removed from Parkventon, he, Lord 
Rollamore, had fixed his wedding-day. 

“We will have the understanding or explanation, or 
whatever you like to call it now, if you please, mother. 
You don’t like my future wife because she’s not what 
you call a swell. But neither she nor I will bear 
any malice on that account. Only leave us in peace, 
and whenever you want me I’ll come to you.” 

Her lips worked painfully as he spoke, and the angry 
blood surged up into her face. 

“ If you knew what you owed me you would not so 
callously cast me off for the sake of a girl who springs 
from the mud.” 

“I will not listen to you, mother, if you speak in 
this way of Valerie, who is as good as gold. I, better 
than any one, know how good and true she is.” 

“Pooh ! ” she said insultingly, “ I know the type ; 
she was coy and retreated when you were a poor, strug- 
gling artist — ” 

“She didn’t do anything of the kind, God bless her,” 


THE AGONY OF HELPLESSNESS. 229 

he interrupted hotly; “she would have married me 
even if I had to borrow the money from her to pay for 
the wedding-ring. She was a good girl, she has always 
been good. I can never do her homage enough ; she 
taught me to be a man, she shamed me out of my 
selfish satisfaction, with the mean dishonorable inertia 
of my life — " 

“You put her on too high a pedestal. Be guided by 
me for once. Who can love you as well as your 
mother? Who can be so jealous for your honor? 
Listen, if you will break with this girl, who will do you 
harm, and no good, I will take him away,” she nodded 
her head in the direction of Mr. Roche's apartment, 
“where he will never trouble you again. He has 
nearly lost his memory. The worst he could say 
about you would be put down to the ravings of 
lunacy — ” 

“You think so, Mrs. Roche?" a querulous voice 
broke in from the doorway. “ Not much of a lunatic, 
am I, Lord Rollamore ? I am only a battered, badly- 
treated man, whose wife wants to get him put away in 
a mad-house. But I’m not mad, and my memory is 
good enough to spoil your bad game." 

He came forward leaning on a crutch, gesticulating 
and shaking his head with angry energy. 

“You thought I was too much of a cripple to crawl 
out and listen at the door ? But I did it, for I knew 
my life and liberty were in danger." 

“Go back to bed," his wife said calmly; “you 
shame me, you astound my son, by your ravings, that 
have no meaning. Come back to your room, I will 
help you." 

He suffered himself to be half led, half carried, by 
her to the door, but there he halted, and turned with 
an ugly smile towards Lord Rollamore. 


23 o 


THE K I LB URNS. 


“ Come to me if you want to know more about your- 
self than your mother has told you yet/’ he was saying 
with suave spite, when she withdrew her supporting 
arm suddenly, and he fell helplessly forward, bruisin'g 
himself against the edge of the door. 

Half stunned and fainting, he managed, before he 
became insensible, to gasp out, — 

“ You re no more 'Lord Rollamore’ than I am. 
You're a groom's — " 

He could articulate no more, and a shriek from Mrs. 
Roche would have drowned his words, even if he had 
been able to speak. Wildly she began to summon aid, 
to give directions, to deplore “ this sudden access of 
mania," to do anything, in fact, that might stave off 
the questioning from her son, which she felt was im- 
minent. 

But he was not to be put off by sensationalism now. 
He had heard enough to justify him in showing what, 
at another time, might have been stigmatized as 
curiosity. 

"You must finish that sentence of Mr. Roche’s for 
me, mother," he said, taking her hands very quietly. 

"I did not hear what he was saying. I will not be 
taken to task for his ravings. He is mad, he is not ac- 
countable, he shall be sent to an asylum. Ah ! • don't 
look at me in that way, my son. It is for you, it is for 
your sake that I will take what may seem harsh meas- 
ures towards him." 

She wailed and wept away from him into the plump 
recesses of a large chair, turning her head towards its 
cushioned back, concealing the expression of her feat- 
ures as best she could. 

"I don't care what you do with Mr. Roche, mother. 
Probably he will be less harmful in an asylum than 
out of it. But you must tell me what he threatened 


THE A GO NY OF HELPLESSNESS . 2 3 1 

when he said I was ‘ no more Lord Rollamore than he 
was/ He was savage, but sane, when he said that.” 

/‘You are hurrying onwards to your own destruc- 
tion ; you are a fool to press me into a corner in this 
way. Oh, my son, my son, have pity on your miser- 
able mother ! Leave me now, cease to harass me 
with questions that I can’t — that I dare not answer. I 
pledge myself that Mr. Roche shall never annoy you 
again. I pledge myself to accept Valerie Heath as my 
daughter. Anything — anything you ask of me I will 
do.” 

“ Tell me the truth, mother ? ” he interrupted. 

Again she began to entreat and implore that he 
“ would not torture her by asking these terrible ques- 
tions.” 

“ Was it not enough,” she asked, “ that her own life 
had been embittered by this secret which she had to 
keep for his good ? ” 

Then, finding he was sternly resolved on hearing it, 
she prayed for time. 

“ To-morrow my nerves will be steadier,” she said; 
‘ 'to-morrow, if you still insist, I will tell you all — 
everything ! Grant me till to-morrow.” 

With a sigh of suppressed impatience and bitter dis- 
appointment, at last he gave up the attempt to extract 
* the truth for that day, at least. That what he had to 
hear was something which would be crushing in its 
power to degrade him — he felt miserably convinced. 
Once or twice the temptation assailed him to do as his 
mother had implored him, “let sleeping dogs lie,” 
and remain in safe ignorance of this secret, which, once 
known, would probably blight his happiness ! In 
order to avert the possibility of being overcome by this 
temptation, he ordered his horse and rode over to con- 
sult Valerie Heath, half promising himself that he 


23 * 


THE HI LB URNS. 


would, abide by her decision. She gave it, at once, 
without a moment's hesitation. 

“ Hear the truth, and, however bad it may be, act 
boldly and honestly, Francis." 

“ Will you stick to me through thick and thin ? ” he 
asked. 

“ It can’t be anything that can separate us, for you've 
done nothing wrong, and, even if you had, I should 
stick to you just the same." 

“Then I won't fear, whatever it may be," he said 
heartily; “and now, as my own house isn’t the hap- 
piest place in the world just now, I shall ask Lady 
Rollamore to give me some dinner, and let me stay the 
evening with you all. " 

So he stayed and dined, and spent several hours that 
had a good deal of happiness in them, in spite of those 
notes of alarm which had been struck by his mother’s 
husband. 

It was late when he reached home. Two or three 
of the servants who had no particular business in that 
part of the house were scattered about the hall as he 
entered, and he felt that there was a good deal of ex- 
citement in the atmosphere. 

“Is Mr. Roche worse? Has anything happened?" 
he asked ; and they told him “that Mrs. Roche had 
taken her husband away, had him carried, still in an* 
unconscious state, to the carriage, which had taken 
them to a railway-station some miles beyond Caddle- 
ton. The carriage had not come back yet, and no one 
knew exactly which station they had gone to. All that 
was certain was that it was not Caddleton." 

His mother had gone away taking her secret with her, 
and, till the coachman came back, it was idle for him to 
attempt to go in pursuit. It was well on into the middle 
of the night before the carriage returned. When it did, 


THE AGONY OF HELPLESSNESS . 


2 33 


it was too late to go off on a vague search. Mrs. Roche 
had been driven to the railway station of a large town, 
and had hired a couple of men to lift her husband 
across the platform into a railway carriage. But what 
train she had taken the coachman couldn’t say, as he 
had been unable to leave his horses. 

Inquiries at the railway station the following day 
elicited the fact that she had taken tickets to Padding- 
ton. At Paddington all traces of them ceased, and, 
after a few days, Lord Rollamore submitted to the 
inevitable, gave up the attempt to find them, and finally 
returned home with the conviction that the rest of his 
life would be passed under a cloud, which only Valerie 
could brighten. 

After having an exhaustive conversation with Gilbert 
on the subject, both men came to the conclusion that, 
as no other course was open to him. Lord Rollamore 
should remain at Parkventon, and continue to be out- 
wardly all that he had been before. But, inwardly, “I 
feel myself to be an impostor, for Roche was not mad 
when he said I was no more Lord Rollamore than he 
was.” 

The two marriages came off very soon after this, and 
for a time it seemed as if the county meant to hold aloof 
from the Rollamores on account of her antecedents. 
But this mistaken idea was exploded when the greatest 
of all the female magnates declared that “ Lady Rolla- 
more was not the stumbling-block to local society en- 
tering Parkventon. ” The wife would have been suf- 
fered to take her place* with her husband, if grave 
doubts as to whether that husband had any place at all 
were not permeating the public mind. These things 
were scarcely said, but they were expressed in various 
ways, and then Lord Rollamore knew that the cloud. 


234 


THE K I LB URNS. 


unless it was lifted in his lifetime, would hang over his 
children, and his children’s children. 

Knowing this, and feeling his own helplessness, he 
sank into a state of deep despondency. Not even his 
wife could rouse him out of the moods of miserable, dark 
uncertainty which Roche’s words and his mother’s obsti- 
nacy had brought upon him. 

“ If I could die before I have a son born to me, 
Gilbert would succeed me, and the wrong would be 
righted,” he would tell her often — till her fainting soul 
admitted the cruel truth, that he longed for death to an 
extent which would surely soon breakdown either his 
body or his mind. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“LOOK into your own heart.” 

“Rollamore is getting so awfully parsimonious that 
it will be impossible for me to continue to act as his 
agent much longer,” Gilbert Kilburn said to his wife 
one day, after having spent several weary hours in go- 
ing over accounts with his half-brother. 

“ He doesn’t want to cut down your salary, does 
he ? ” Florence asked anxiously. She was not a mer- 
cenary woman, but the idea of curtailing any of the re- 
finements of their pretty home had its terrors for her. 

“No, my salary is about the only thing he doesn’t 
mean to cut down. Poor fellow ! this miserable doubt 
of his own identity has poisoned his mind, and will 
end by softening his- brain, I’m afraid, unless it can be 
set at rest. Valerie tells me he is breaking his heart 
over the thought of spending money which may not 


“ LOOK INTO YOUR OWN HEART.' 


235 


belong to him. His latest fad is to shut up Park ven ton, 
or get my mother to live in it, and go back to London, 
set up his studio again, and live upon what he makes 
by his painting. She declares it is the best thing he 
can do. The necessity for work, when he had once 
openly pledged himself to do it, would prevent his 
brooding over the miserable mystery which surrounds 
him.” 

“Then who would take the management of his in- 
come ? ” 

“ He’ll keep that in his own hands. He’s nervously 
averse to spending a farthing of what he fancies doesn’t 
belong to him. If he has any children, it’s to be hoped 
he won’t imbue them with the notion that they are 
frauds, and not real Kilburns.” 

“Can’t you make him understand that Mr. Roche was 
off his head when he said it ? ” 

“ Unfortunately his mother confessed that there is 
a secret — one that would damage him a good deal. 
He’s always advertising, and entreating her to come 
forward and clear things up. But she’ll never do it.” 

“ Gilbert, if he is right in fearing what he does, you 
are the real Lord Rollamore. ” 

11 If he is right, yes; but I never allow myself to 
dream about what may never be proved.” 

“ I wonder if mamma could find out anything about 
Mrs. Roche now ? Would it be any use for her to ad- 
vertise ? They are cousins, and she might respond in 
her desolation to an overture from another woman. 
Shall mamma try an advertisement in the Times , Gil- 
bert ? It could do no harm ; it may do good.” 

“It will have the appearance, I’m afraid, of my being 
anxious to find out in my own interests,” Gilbert said 
hesitatingly. “ Poor fellow, I don’t want to throw him 
down, whoever he may be. ” 


THE KI. LB URNS. 


236 

“ That's wrong ; that's weak," his wife said decidedly. 
“If he is not your elder brother, he's a usurper — an in- 
nocent and unintentional, and very unwilling one, but 
still a usurper. " 

“ That's what he's always calling himself. No one 
knows how the poor fellow suffers under the honors 
that have been thrust upon him." 

4 4 Then don’t let us leave a stone unturned to release 
him from the burden of those honors, and help him into 
a state where he will have peace of mind. Valerie isn't 
a bit happy there. She dreads having a son, poor 
woman, for fear he should hate it — not that, exactly, 
but be sorry that it was born. People in the neighbor- 
hood slight them, in consequence of something that has 
leaked out through the servants relative to that dread- 
ful Roche business." 

“ It's ten to one, even if your mother did advertise, 
that it would ever meet Mrs. Roche’s eye." 

“ But there is just the chance that she might see it, 
and, if she did, and mother could get hold of her to talk 
to, there’s no knowing what the influence of another 
woman might do." 

“ You shall do as you like, Flo dear, only say nothing 
about it to either Rollamore or Valerie. It would only 
increase his nervousness and suspense. There’s quite 
a hungry look in the poor fellow’s eyes when he seizes 
the paper day after day, and sees no reply to those 
pathetic appeals of his." 

So Mrs. Gilbert Kilburn went off with her husband’s 
unwilling consent to enlist her mother in the cause of 
finding out the truth, if possible, from Mrs. Roche. 

At the first mention of the service required of her, 
Mrs. Maunders was frightened. To be brought into 
contact at all with her cousin was dreadful to her, and 
it was doubly dreadful that she should go to her on 


“ LOOK INTO YOUR OWN HEART.” 


237 


such a mission, and through the medium of an adver- 
tisement. She explained to her daughter that baldness 
of Mrs. Roches temper was an unknown quantity, and 
that even if she (Mrs. Maunders) succeeded in finding 
her and forcing an interview upon her, terror would 
interfere with the usefulness of the achievement. 

“You will be given the needful courage and strength 
when the time comes — if it ever does come,” Florence 
said encouragingly, and then, after a few more protests, 
Mrs. Maunders allowed the advertisement to be written 
and sent to the agony columns of the Times and Daily 
Telegraph. 

For six weeks these advertisements were inserted 
every day, and just as the forlorn hope of their extract- 
ing a sign of recognition from her was expiring, Mrs. 
Roche wrote to her cousin and quondam friend. 

“ I have done daily battle with my inclination for a 
month/' she wrote, “now it has grown too strong for 
me. I must see some one who loved me once again 
before I die. My son has never loved me ; perhaps 
this is all my fault, not his, but it is a heavy punish- 
ment. I tried to be strong, and shut myself off from all 
human kind who knew me, and knew of my shortcom- 
ings. I am less hard, less brave, less strong than I 
believed myself to be. If you will come alone on 
Thursday to the Paddington Station by the train that 
gets in at six in the evening, some one will meet you 
who will bring you to me. I send you a check to 
cover your expenses. You must be alone. If you try 
to trap me into seeing any one else, you will fail to find 
me. Carry a book in your hand, and stand under the 
clock on the arrival platform at a quarter past six. — 
Your miserable Cousin. ' 

“ I would as soon face a herd of wild cattle as meet 
her alone," Mrs. Maunders said nervously; “but I'd 


THE KI LB UR NS. 


238 

much sooner face them than disobey her, and take any 
one with me 

“Oh ! it will be a mere nothing when you once get 
over the first awkward five minutes, mamma/' Mrs. 
Sheffield said soothingly. “ Think how much you 
have to hear, and how important what you have to 
hear may be to Gilbert and Florence. Poor Lord Rol- 
lamore, too ! how much better for him if he could only 
know the truth, whatever it is. He told me to-day that 
he would rather break stones on the road than live an- 
other twelve months as he has lived the last. He says 
nobody will believe that he couldn't find out if he tried. 
He reads in every face he meets that he is in league 
with his mother.’' 

“I don't believe there is anything to find out. What 
should there be? " Mrs. Maunders said fretfully. “Lord 
Rollamore has no right to take a few idle words to heart, 
and upset every one about him." 

“ He upsets himself far more than he does any one 
else, mother. Now you have a slight chance of clear- 
ing away* the mists, you'll try to do it, won’t you ? " 
Florence asked coaxingly. “There will soon be others 
to think of besides ourselves. If Valerie and I are 
blessed with children, we would wish there to be no 
mysteries about them. They must not be brought up 
in false positions, as both Rollamore and Gilbert were. 
Both Valerie and I want it to be all clear light about 
our children." 

“I shall tremble like an aspen when I do see her, 
and I shall never be able to worry her with many ques- 
tions, " Mrs. Maunders said, and when she said that, 
they knew that she had strung herself up to the dreaded 
task, and that she would go on what was to her a very 
terrible mission. 

In view of the extremely probable failure of this mis- 


“ LOOK INTO YOUR OWN HEART.” 


239 


sion, they had all decided not to let Lord Rollamore 
know that Mrs. Roche had written to her cousin in re- 
ply to the latter’s advertisements. When the day came, 
Mrs. Maunders went down to the station in a close fly 
and a paroxysm of fear and dread of seeing Lord Rolla- 
more, and of having the object of her journey suspected 
by him. But eventually she was got off without hin- 
drance, and then, for six hours, she suffered such prelim- 
inary pangs of embarrassment and deadly fear as ren- 
dered her nearly incapable of stepping out on to the 
platform when she reached her journey’s end. 

Placing herself, book in hand, under the clock at a 
quarter-past six, she waited, with her heart in her 
mouth, for a few minutes. Then she was accosted by 
a plainly-dressed, middle-aged woman. 

‘ ‘ Is your name Maunders ? If it is, you are to please 
to follow me.” 

Mrs. Maunders faltered along the platform, and into 
a cab at the end of it. When the address had been 
given, and they had fairly started on their way, the 
woman spoke again. 

“ You’ll find Mrs. Roche a good deal altered. You 
haven’t seen her for a long time ? Prepare yourself for 
a great change. ” 

“Is she — has she been ill ?” Mrs. Maunders asked 
timidly. 

“Ill of a broken heart, and there’s not many worse 
illnesses than that, unless it be a guilty mind. You’ll 
find her changed in many ways.” 

“ Is Mr. Roche with her ! Is he better? ” 

“ He died five or six months ago ; died mad. I w is 
his nurse in the asylum, and when he went I came to 
his widow. Yes, you’ll find her a good deal changed.” 

They had driven a long way from the station, it 
seemed to Mrs. Maunders, and still the cab went oh 


240 


THE K1 LB URNS. 


and on. In her ignorance of London she had not the 
faintest notion of the locality in which they came to a 
halt finally. A short road leading away from a long, 
dull, deserted one on to acres of building ground, cov- 
ered with bricks and mortar. The house at which they 
stopped looked poor and plain. There were no flowers 
on its window balconies, no curtains at its windows. 
Before she had time to say more than, “Does Mrs. 
Roche live here ? surely not,” she was shown through 
a dark passage into a room poorly furnished, dimly 
lighted, where, before a handful of fire, what was left 
of Mrs. Roche cowered. 

Plainly dressed in a black gown of woollen material, 
with the few gray hairs she had left tucked away be- 
neath a plain cap, with no ornaments or jewelry of any 
description, with her pallid, wrinkled face undefiled by 
paint, she looked as unlike the splendidly-dressed Mrs. 
Roche of other days as it was possible to conceive any 
one looking. 

She rose up, trembling visibly, as Mrs. Maunders 
came in, and went a step to meet her. 

“Florence,” she said, “you've been a good woman 
all your life. Aren't you afraid to come near me ? Tve 
been a bad wife, a bad mother, — a false woman to every 
one who trusted mel But I don't look as if I were en- 
joying the fruits of my wickedness, do I ? Ah, what 
happiness is your portion in comparison with mine ! 
You have daughters who love you, and who are well 
settled in life ; you have peace, an honest occupation, 
and an easy conscience, while / have — ” 

“Tell me your troubles, dear cousin ; I may help you 
to bear them,” Mrs. Maunders interrupted gently. 

‘ ‘ My troubles ! ” she laughed harshly. “My troubles 
date from the day I told my first lie to my husband. 
If he had not believed me, my son would be a — ” 


“ LOOK INTO YOUR OWN HEART." 


241 

“Tell me the truth, at least, ” Mrs. Maunders inter- 
rupted, with a little sob. 

Then Mrs. Roche drew her down into a chair close to 
her own side, and, after a minute’s pause, during which 
she had been convulsed with emotion, she said, — 

“I am not so bad as you all think. That money 
which I got my Son’s wife to leave to me, in order that 
with it I might buy his obedience, I have given it all 
back to her daughter — to Mrs. Fergus Kilburn. I have 
given it all back ; I have kept none of it. I am living 
poorly and plainly, as you see. Is not this sufficient 
expiation for the errors of my youth ? ” 

For once Mrs. Maunders had the courage of her prin- 
ciples. 

“No, dear, it is not enough,” she said, very sadly 
and firmly. “You have much more to do before you 
can say that you have done all that is in your power to 
expiate the — sins of your youth. You will tell me—” 
“I will tell you nothing more,” Mrs. Roche said, turn- 
ing away dejectedly. “I am not very strong — I can’t 
live long ! My life is broken — broken, Florence ! It 
has been a broken life for more years than I can re- 
member. Then, two years ago, I thought I saw a 
gleam of sunshine. I wanted to see my son honored 
and in a high place, and I plotted and planned to make 
it better for him, that he should seem to honor and re- 
spect me. I wanted to share the glorious position I 
had won for him. But I have been baffled — I have 
been deservedly baffled ! And in trying to atone for my 
fault, I have left myself destitute. ” 

By this time Mrs. Maunders was crying. The task 
that she had been sent to perform was a harder one than 
her nature could endure without a terrible strain. 

“What did you want of me? Why did you compel 
me to see vou, Florence ? Look into your own heart, 

16 


242 THE kilb urns . 

Was it pity for me that prompted you ? — or was it the 
hope that you might induce me to say something which 
would throw my son down, and set Gilbert Kilburn — 
your daughter's husband — up ? ” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

CLEAR LIGHT AT LAST. 

There was great anxiety among those who were in 
the secret of the cause of her absence when three or 
four days had passed and brought no letter or commu- 
nication of any kind from Mrs. Maunders. Her daugh- 
ters, who had so strenuously urged her to go on the 
mission that was so repugnant to her, each suffered 
more private pangs than they cared to admit either to 
one another or their respective husbands. As usual, 
the questions of outsiders as to why the mistress of the 
most popular place of resort in Caddleton was absent so 
long from her post were embarrassing to a degree, 
while the speculations which Lord Rollamore indulged 
in added poignancy to the pain they already felt in de- 
ceiving him ever so little, even for his own good. 

“It's an, extraordinary thing that she should have 
gone away without leaving her address with either of 
her daughters. Such an attached mother as she is, too. 
There must be something behind it all/* 

These and sundry other remarks of a similar nature 
were made freely to Doctor Sheffield as he went his 
daily rounds. But Doctor Sheffield had a great gift of 
imperturbability, and the remarks were answered only 
by such impassive glances that people gave him up as 
either ignorant of the whole matter, or guiltily cognizant 
of everything. 


CLEAR LIGHT A T LAST. 


24 3 


For a brief time, this minor matter of Mrs. Maunders’s 
unaccounted-for absence was overshadowed by a much 
more startling topic of conversation. Mrs. Fergus Kil- 
burn, settled happily at Malta for a time while her hus- 
band was on the Mediterranean station, wrote home 
the surprising news that the whole of the large fortune 
left by her mother to Mrs. Roche had been restored to 
her. 

“ There must be a lot of good in her after all,” the 
happy young wife wrote. “ Fergus and I feel as if we 
had found a four-leaved shamrock ; and we're coming 
home as soon as possible ‘to scatter joy around the 
family.' Poor Lord Rollamore ! I wish he would cease 
to think himself an impostor. Surely, now he hears 
that his mother has made this splendid restitution to 
me, he will think less hardly of her, and attribute those 
horrible doubts which Mr. Roche raised in his mind to 
the ravings of lunacy." 

“ That’s all very kind and generous of May, but it’s 
mighty poor reasoning,’’ Gilbert said, when he read 
this. “Rollamore will be as glad as the rest of us that 
the money has gone back to where it belongs of right. 
But he’ll attribute the act of restitution to the workings 
of remorse — as I do." 

“Rollamore and his wife are both much brighter 
than I’ve ever seen them before, now that they are 
going," Florence replied. “ Poor old Parkventon looks 
very sad, though, now that all the rooms are shrouded 
in brown holland, and nearly all the servants gone. 
They mean to go into the lodgings they’ve taken as Mr. 
and Mrs. White, and he won’t spend a penny more 
than he makes by his painting till he knows more than 
he does now. Gilbert, I feel it in my heart that mother 
isn’t staying away for nothing. Only, I wish she’d 
write." 


244 


THE KIL BURNS. 


“If the imperious Mrs. Roche orders her not to 
write, your mother is not the sort of woman to fight 
against the decree. Ton my word, though I am very 
fond of Rollamore, I shall be glad when he has gone. 
The sight of that lugubrious face of his depresses me 
out of the power of attending to my own work properly. 
They’re off to-morrow, you know.” 

“Yes; and as soon as they’re settled, we'll run up 
and see them, Gilbert. We mustn’t let poor Rollamore 
think that we’re ready to let him lapse from us. I 
know he’s always on the watch now to see if any of the 
family are affectionate or attentive to him with an 
effort. If he were to detect one, he would take it as a 
sure sign that there was no natural family feeling at 
work. Valerie says, if she has children, and they’re not 
like the Kilburns — ‘frank,’ as she’s taken to calling 
them — she will be more convinced than ever that he is 
not the genuine article himself.” 

“I’m rather sick of the subject,” Gilbert said forcibly ; 
“its a kind of social suicidal mania that he’s suffering 
from. Let us cease worrying about the intangible 
affair, at least till your mother comes home.” 

A day or two after this, the anxiously-expected letter 
from Mrs. Maunders came. She had nothing definite 
to tell them, she said, excepting that Mrs. Roche was 
very ill, and had requested that Mr. Wyndham, the late 
Lord Rollamore’s lawyer, be sent for. Would Gil- 
bert therefore kindly send her that gentleman’s ad- 
dress ? 

The husband and wife looked at one another in 
silence for a few moments when they read this. Then 
Florence said, — 

“There is something, after all. Mother has softened 
Mrs. Roche’s heart, and she will tell the truth to Mr. 
Wyndham.” 


CLEAR LIGHT A T LAST. 


245 

‘‘Send her Mr. Wyndham’s address,” Gilbert replied 
curtly. 

The possibilities that seemed to be opening before 
him were things about which he could not trust him- 
self to speak, even to his wife. 

“Dear mother has taken to works of darkness and 
secrecy too, you see,” Florence said, with a forced 
laugh ; “she gives her address at a post-office in West 
Kensington, instead of from Mrs. Roche's lodgings.” 

“She needn’t have feared that I should have invaded 
Mrs. Roche.” 

“No, Gilbert, but I should have told Valerie where 
she was, and she would have told her husband, and he 
might have gone impetuously and upset things. If 
she sends for Mr. Wyndham, it can be only that she 
may tell him all she has to tell. Poor thing, I’ve no 
doubt it will be easier for her to tell a painful story to 
a stranger than to her own son.” 

“Now let us dismiss the subject from our minds,” 
Gilbert said, rising with the air of one who is throwing 
off a weight. “My mother wants us all to meet at her 
house and dine to-night, and so take a cheery, tempo- 
rary leave of Rollamore. Don’t look dismal, Flo, as if 
you felt that he was going to stick in this painting 
groove forever. We’ll have him back at Parkventon 
before twelve months are over our heads.” 

Mrs. Gilbert Kilburn nodded her head slowly, but it 
was scarcely a nod of assent. However, she dismissed 
the dismal expression, and refrained from making any 
allusion to the subject that was uppermost in the 
minds of the majority of the family party when they 
assembled at old Lady Rollamore’s that night. 

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Francis White travelled 
up to town to commence the new life — the only life 
which was mow endurable to him. Their lodgings 


246 


THE KI LB URNS. 


were rather in striking contrast to Parkventon, but 
Valerie declared she had always liked cosy rooms best, 
There was a good-sized room in the house empty, and 
with a good north light. This was, of course, sur- 
rendered to Mr. White for his studio, and once again 
Valerie fell into position of an artists model ; but she 
was a model for her husband only now. 

He was thought very eccentric, merely, both by 
many of his old private patrons and by picture dealers 
when he reappeared before them as White the artist. 
They looked upon it as a caprice on the part of the 
wealthy Lord Rollamore, that he should play at doing 
real work again. However, they humored the caprice, 
and encouraged him more than they had ever encour- 
aged him before, so that, before long, he had a steady 
and remunerative sale for the steady work he did. 

Happy in the hard work he was doing, happy in the 
lighter-heartedness of Valerie, who had suffered as only 
a sensitive woman can from the social snubs she 
had received when occupying the exalted position to 
which she never felt sure of her right, and conscious 
that he was living honorably now, whatever his 
mothers antecedents might have been, he began to 
feel more tolerantly towards that mother. It struck 
him, now that he had borne the burden of the.discovery 
that she was his mother in a more manly way, that she 
would have shown him a more womanly side to her 
character than he had ever seen. These feelings 
strengthened when he found himself the father of a 
small son, whose likeness to his beautiful mother quite 
won a pardon for not being like any member of the 
Kilburn family they had ever seen. He was like a 
little Murillo when he was a month old, and about that 
time Mr. Wyndham came to see them. 

The two men had parted on bad terms on that day 


CLEAR LIGHT A T LAST 


24 7 


when Francis White, intoxicated by the news of his 
suddenly-acquired honors, and maddened by the knowl- 
edge that he had been trapped into a degrading mar- 
riage, had revealed all that was lowest in his nature to 
the lawyer. That nature had gone through the purify- 
ing fire of affliction, suspense, distrust of and keen 
analysis of its own motives since then, while at present 
it was softened as well as strengthened by a sense of 
undeserved happiness. This was a better as well as a 
stronger man who met him now, Mr. Wyndham felt, 
than the prosperous Lord Rollamore, with whom he 
had parted more than two years ago, had been. 

“ Mr. White, you will probably guess that my busi- 
ness with you concerns your mother. She has made 
an affidavit before me, with the contents of which it is 
necessary you should become acquainted with as little 
delay as possible/' the lawyer began abruptly, and 
White’s whole face lighted up with radiant relief as he 
replied, — 

“ Thank heaven ! the false pretence has been made 
an end of. I feel that it is so by your addressing me as 
Mr. White, and I regard you as a messenger who brings 
light into my life.” 

“ Before you read your mother’s confession, it will 
be well ttiat you should see her. A meeting between 
you would be less painful to you before you are in pos- 
session of all the .hard facts of the case. 

“ I am ready to go to her at any moment, and to for- 
give her any wrong she may have done me. The 
injury can’t extend to my own boy, thank God, that’s 
why I wouldn’t have him born at Parkventon.” 

Mr. Wyndham cast about in his own mind for a 
suitable reply to this. He had come intending to offer 
condolences to the man who had been cast down, but 
condolences would have seemed out of place here. 


248 


THE KI LB URNS. 


He had come, too, on behalf of Gilbert, who wanted 
the one he had accepted as a brother to take at least a 
moderate income from him now, even when he was 
about to be proved to be no brother at all. 

“ However, I think I’ll leave that part of the business 
to Gilbert himself,” Mr. Wyndham mentally resolved ; 
“and Gilbert mustn’t offer it too soon — not till the first 
soreness has worn off.” 

So he left that portion of his embassy unfulfilled, and 
hurried White off as soon as possible, to the little 
meanly furnished room, where his mother lay dying. 

With him went his wife and baby son. 

“I’m glad I wrote the truth, and had it witnessed 
before I saw him,” Mrs. Roche said, holding her arms 
out to her grandson; “perhaps, if I hadn’t, the old 
Adam would have been too strong in me. I might 
have held out and died silent, in order that he might be 
Lord Rollamore.” 

“Instead of that, he is the grandson of — ’’White 
began questioningly. 

Then a great wave of pity swept over his heart, and 
he held his child’s little face to his mother’s lips. 

“He is your grandson, at least,” he said gently; 
“nothing can alter that, mother. I am glad that you 
should see and love my son before you die.” 

“I have been a wicked woman,” she murmured im- 
ploringly. “ I have been — ” 

The sound died away on her lips. She had gone to 
the Highest Court of Appeal, and those she left behind 
never presumed to judge her. 

When the few legal ceremonies — they were very few, 
Mrs. Roche’s confession had been so ample and accurate 
— were gone through, and the reinstated Lord Rollamore 
and his wife Florence were fairly established at Park- 
venton, the Francis Whites were their first visitors. 


CLEAR LIGHT A T LAST. 


249 


They proved themselves to be a couple of born 
Bohemians, by being thoroughly well pleased with the 
lower estate to which they had fallen. At least they 
both declared that they had been given no fall, for that 
they had never felt at home in the higher state. As 
Mr. White boldly gave out the truth concerning himself, 
which was that he was the son born to his mother, 
when her husband, Mr. Kilburn, had been absent from 
her for fourteen months, that his mother had passed him 
off as six months, when he had really been only three 
months old, and that his real father was Clarke, the 
groom, on account of whom his mother had been event- 
ually divorced. As he said this himself, people found 
no worse things to say of him. And after a time, as he 
succeeded more and more as a portrait painter, it was 
admitted in the Caddleton neighborhood, that perhaps 
Lord Rollamore’s little daughter might do worse, by- 
and-by, than marry her favorite play-fellow and tyrant* 
young Francis White. 


THE END. 

























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